Marble Cold
by Garmonbozia
Summary: 9/13  A sick little girl might hold the key to a terrible murder.  But something darker still, something new and petty and selfish, is fighting for her silence, and her heart.
1. Chapter 1

I am so tired of being the only sane person in the box. It's too much of a burden. I feel like their babysitter more than their friend sometimes, it's not fair.

"Is it time yet?" the Doctor says, for the third time in ten minutes.

Rory, for the third time in ten minutes, tells him no.

To put things in context, Jessica is sleeping. The Doctor, for reasons he's keeping to himself, no surprises there, wants to wake her. Seems to think she knows something about something but that's as specific as I can get out of him. Rory, rather than just let him and get it over with, is being such a nurse. She had a rough time with the Tir, she's mentally and physically drained, needs rest, blah, blah, blah.

"Just because _you_ don't sleep, Doctor-"

"I do. Sometimes. And anyway, it's been _ages_."

"It's been half an hour!"

Not strictly true. It's been half an hour since Jessica woke in the temporal decompression chamber and realized somebody had taken the horse away and she wasn't comfortable anymore. Don't ask, long story. She then dragged herself half awake up through the console room to the little door at the top of the stairs where she usually sleeps. But it's been about six hours total. I could jump in with that, in the interests of truth and fairness, but I'm not giving the Doctor the satisfaction. I'm a good wife, who's been under a lot of stress lately and been forced to appreciate the things that she has.

Anyway, he counters with, "That's _ages_. She only does it in the defiance, you know. She only does it because she can. After a lifetime of military regulation, she's just enamoured of doing what she pleases when she pleases."

My mind takes a second decoding that one. The Tardis can do everything from Mandarin Chinese to provincial Sontaran, but for some reason she doesn't translate him. Which makes me think she's just _used_ to him, and my heart goes big with pure pity. "Wait, you're saying she does it to get back at Kovarian?"

"Yes. Simple, petty vengeance."

"Great, let her sleep."  
>"<em>Pond<em>!"

I shrug. I can't help it if he puts forward a better argument against himself than for. I told you, it's tough being the last sensible person here. But the Doctor doesn't understand that I'm the sensible one, he never has. He thinks I'm just being contrary, and so he will not accept that he's been defeated on this one. You can see it, almost, all the little cogs flying round in his mind fast as planets, looking for another angle.

It's not going to get him anywhere, you know. Rory's not going to be moved on this one and now that I know what I'm fighting for neither am I. He'll never get around both of us, there just isn't an argument in the world he could come off with now that's going to make a blind bit of difference to how we feel on this particular subject. He can give her the full hour at least and nothing's going to change my position on that one.

He leans right forward, over his knees. "Alright," he says, quiet and serious, "I'll be straight with you." Which means that's the last thing he's going to be. Rory knows it too, I see it when he looks at me. "Don't start, you two, I'm being serious. It's about _River_."

Oh.

Yeah, well, that'll do the trick, usually.

River enters, then, from down below, towelling her hair. Changed out of her Xena gear, finally. That kind of thing looks alright when you're going about Tirinnanoc on a noble white steed, but it started to get a bit like fancy dress in the Tardis. And I'm ninety-percent sure she was wearing the same slatted leather skirt as Rory used to, which was just… disturbing.

"What's about me?"

The Doctor turns in his chair, leaning over the back to watch her. And he does _watch_, you know. Doesn't just look. Always _watching_, like he's committing her to memory. "Not you, love, the other you. Is that… Does that count as spoilers?"

"Yes. Do you want me to…?" And she points back out the door.

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Give me a shout when you're done."

And off she goes again. Just like that. I don't know how she can, how she walks away from that kind of tease. Must be used to it. I don't know that I'd ever get used it. Anyway, we wait until she's out, until her footsteps have faded again.

"The other River," the Doctor continues, "the one from the Tian Lu Quan, the one we couldn't save at the time. Jessica is the key to finding our way there, and the sooner I get to work the sooner we can _do_ something about that."

He means it, too. And he has done for days. It was all over him in Dublin. Torn, like he'd made a mistake, like there was more he should have been doing. He thinks I don't notice, but it's just that I don't say anything. What would be the point? It's not my job to make him feel worse.

No, more like it's his job to get us all out alive and it's my job to be the sane one when he can't.

"I want to help," I say to him.

"Right, then, tell your husband to stop glaring at me every time I look at the stairs."

"No, I mean, with whatever you need to do. I want to be part of it."

"Out of the question."

No, sorry, Doctor, wrong answer, unacceptable. "_Why_?"

He says nothing. A terse half a smile like he's going to, but he doesn't. Nothing at all. Which, I don't know if you've gathered, isn't normal. I know him better than to believe that little old me could get him lost for words, that to such a stupid little question as 'Why' he couldn't even come up with some facetious fob-off like he normally does. So him saying nothing is not a good thing, because it means he knows exactly what he wants to say and he's just not saying it. If you follow. It means she doesn't even want to lie to us.

Rory sits up straight all of a sudden, eyes wide. "Doctor, what are you going to do to Jessica?"

That's it, Rory, get your priorities right. Don't think just because we've fought about this already that I can't go another round, mister, because I can go another ten when it's about River.

Anyway, the Doctor gets all affronted and puffs his chest out. Says, "_Nothing_!"

This one, this time, this _definitely_ means he's lying. Doesn't mean he intends to hurt her, though, probably just means he doesn't know. But like I said, I'm the only sane one still here, so Rory doesn't take it that way.

"Then you won't mind if we stick about to help."

The phone starts ringing. More to get away from them than anything else, I start to get up. The Doctor tells me to sit down again, to ignore it. Then tells Rory, "Why don't I drop you all off somewhere? Nice bit of family time with River. I won't be jealous, I promise. Well, a little bit, but just enough to help you enjoy it all the more-"

"We're not going anywhere."

"-That's how you humans work, isn't it? You enjoy it better when somebody else would be enjoying it more? I'll be chronically jealous if that'll help you all out. What about Brighton?"

It doesn't end the argument, but it shuts Rory up for a long empty second. During which the phone is still ringing, and I hate that, I hate a ringing phone. I move to get up again and he tells me, again, to sit down.

Then, from my ever so concerned husband, "All the universe and all of time at your doorstep and you'd send us to Brighton?"

"…I like Brighton. Hanging Gardens of Babylon, then."

I chip in, "Been there."

And again, somehow, because it's me it's a betrayal. He looks at me, glaring, cuts his eyes at Rory as if asking me for help. As if I should favour one of them in this battle of wills or step back entirely.

In the quiet, behind me, the phone goes to the answering machine. Yeah, I was surprised too, but there it is. Actually, _the Doctor_ was surprised to discover it; you can hear it in his message. Which isn't so much a message as the background noise of an imminent crash 'out of all space and time.' He's such a drama queen. He looks surprised to hear it again, then shudders at the memory.

After his recording, the message comes in.

A man's voice, sounding hoarse, distressed, kept down low like someone might be listening in. "Doctor? Doctor, are you there? Oh, to hell with it. Look, I don't know if you remember me, but it's Crayshaw Hannigan." I watch him thinking back at that one. You'd think a name like Crayshaw Hannigan would stick, but apparently not. "Look it up if you don't remember, because I can't talk about it now but… Doctor, one of them's alive. It's talking to a little girl, going about with her, somehow. I know her, Doctor, and she's not lying. It's _alive_ somehow. Somehow… Please, I didn't know who else to go to for help."

Now, around about halfway through this man's heartfelt plea, begging him for assistance, the Doctor got that look on his face again. The cog-turning one. It could go either way, you know; he might be being a good Doctor and thinking about how he can help. Or he might not be. Now, as the message ends with one last mutter of 'It's alive', like Doctor Frankenstein with the batteries running down, he leans his face on one hand, scratching his chin. Looking very far away, very distant.

"Oh, now, that _is_ unfortunate… Awfully bad timing…"

"What is?" I ask. Because he obviously meant for somebody to ask and Rory's not in the mood to oblige him.

"…Awfully bad timing indeed…" he says, pretending not to have heard me. Like I can't tell when he's pretending. So I prompt him again, with my foot this time. "_Hannigan_," he says, "_needing_ me and _River, needing_ me, all at once. I… I need two of me, when was the last time I was bored, I can send this back to myself… Oh, but then the time-streams will cross and everybody knows you must never, never cross the streams. What to do, what to do… I mean, I need to stay here with Jessica and… You two just aren't buying this at all, are you?"

Rory shakes his head. "No."

And then the Doctor does something I never thought I'd see him do. In a perfectly normal, genuine, non-facetious way, he looks at both of us and says, "Please?" What do you even _say_ to that? He said _please_. Since when does that happen? "Look, there are two jobs and I can only do one of them. I'd like to put my best people on the other. River will be here anyway. Nothing's going to happen."

This is a trick. This is lies and trickery and appealing to the fact that we're good, honest people who wouldn't like to see anybody stuck. He's preying on our honourable natures and preoccupations as parents. And he also called us his best people. He did. Said it like he meant it, too. Like, out of all the other humans he knows and has known, and the non-humans as well, we're his best people. No better people for the job. Trusting us with this, too.

Now, I'm not smiling, because I don't want him to know I'm flattered. I don't want him to think I say what I say next because I'm flattered. No, this is all to do with that first bit, about being nice and honourable. That's why I'm doing this.

I nudge Rory. Make sure I get eye-contact and ask him, "What do you think?"

Rory, somehow, still doesn't like the idea. He's still thinking about Jessica, and I try not to let that annoy me, but I just don't understand. The Doctor tried to explain it to me before. Said Rory doesn't understand it either. Something still programmed into his brain from that whole Los Angeles mess. I don't care; I don't like it. I think Rory sees that. I think that helps.

Eyeing the Doctor and not me, he says, "Yeah, alright."

All of a sudden the Doctor is on his feet and at the console, ready to take us there. "Good!" he says, very loud and very fast, "Take overnight bags; in fact, take two, at least two, two over-nights, two overnight _bags_ makes sense. And you'll need formalwear, and Pond, don't think you'll get away with the same dress twice, people will talk. Plenty in the wardrobe, do take that dark blue one again, the one you wore at Howard Hawks' house, it suits you. Rory, match her or they'll think she's single. Off you go now, quick-quick, we'll be there before you know it."

Rory grimaces.

I didn't know what a grimace really was until I started going about in the Tardis, but I'm telling you, I've learned.

He _grimaces_.

"He really just did that to us, didn't he?"

The break might do him good. Do us good. So I start pulling him out of the room before I tell him, "Yeah, he totally got us. Fooled the both of us completely. Hook, line and sinker, Rory. I never suspected."


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor gives us the bare bones over the speakers while we're packing. We're going to a place called Manor Ignis, a massive big estate in a future human colony on a planet called Grex.

Oh, I am way too blasé about the term 'future human colony', aren't I? I mean especially about the fact that humans will one day need to colonize other planets.

Anyway, the Manor Ignis is owned by the Hardiwickes, Reed and Rachel, with their young daughter Astrid. This Crayshaw Hannigan is a sculptor who lives and works there. And that's all we get, apparently, aside from the gift of psychic paper and a good hard shove out the door. "The Tardis," he says, "will be right here should you run into anything you can't handle, should you need me but I _implore_ you, Ponds, do not need me." And he slams the door behind us.

"Charming," I say.

"Like we'd _need_ him," Rory says. Sounding all the way disdainful. And looking at him I might actually believe for a second that he means it. "What's he talking about? Why would we _need_ him?" Yeah, he's serious. That's a man thing, isn't it, not admitting to any weakness.

Me, the last time I felt this lost I was running across the Nevada desert on my own about to be shot and pregnant-only-not-pregnant. And that was a weird time, let me tell you.

Us and our bags are at the bottom of about half a mile of gravel drive. At the far end, small soft lights from the windows of the Manor Ignis. For just a second, I dare to look over my shoulder. And the light on top of the Tardis goes out.

"Means he's occupied," Rory says. His idea of a joke. And very probably it's funny, but I'm just not in the mood. I put my bag on my shoulder, hand him his. And I try putting my arm through his, only that just makes him ask me what's wrong. And when I tell him I'm alright, despite the fact that I just told him I'm _alright_, he pulls me in to kiss my forehead and tells me that we're going to be absolutely fine on our own, of course. Like I doubted that, which I didn't.

I _didn't_. I don't care whether you believe me or not. I'm just telling the story how it happened; you can think what you please.

The long walk up the drive happens in two stages. The first is the stage where everything is getting better. For instance, I'm noticing what a big beautiful house it is, with fountains and topiary and stone balconies and stained glass. It's a fairytale manor. There should be a rose under a bell jar on the hall table and sleeping princess in the room at the top of the stairs. And this is where we're going to be staying. The first stage is where Rory is trying to make me feel better, talking about anything that isn't River or the Doctor. A story about a dog he met in Tirinnanoc that he wanted to bring home, so we could have an alien dog even when we're not travelling with the Doctor anymore. Wish he hadn't said that.

Actually, that's round about the halfway point, where the walk towards the Manor Ignis changes entirely.

Again, by way of for instance, the music stops. I hadn't even noticed there was music drifting down from the house. It just seemed natural. A place like that, there's supposed to be music. And now it stops. I notice it because it stops. And a woman in a ball gown runs out from the hall onto the front step and has to be brought back in by a gentleman in a tuxedo. All the low little glimmers of light blow up huge like somebody in every room dropped a contact lens. All that light, the magic goes out of the place, and it starts to look stark. After that Rory stops talking and we hurry.

The first woman who bolted is not the last. The steps are crowded by the time we get there, women fanning themselves, gentlemen holding them up and looking pale and sick themselves. If you listen, you don't so much hear full conversations and bits and scraps and phrases. 'Terrible business' is one. 'Poor man' is another. 'Murder'. You hear 'murder' quite a bit. I would hang back, find out what we're dealing with first, but Rory is insisting we find the Hardiwickes. Get their approval before we go poking anyway. That way we're aides and not suspects.

He pushes inside and I follow. There in the hallway, which has no belljar but a green marble floor and an elaborate dome ceiling, all iron and glass, we're spotted by a butler.

He sees us right away because everyone else is wearing their party gear and we're both in denim. And I spot him for a butler because he's tall and looking twice as snooty as any lord or lady I've ever seen and wearing a more formal tux than anybody else. I don't mind somebody having my number so long as I have theirs. He demands to know who we are. Clearly thinks he's solved the mystery; two strangers hanging about just as something goes wrong? Oh yeah, he's getting his pay rise this year, this guy's thinking.

So _totally_ got his number.

I hold up the psychic paper, like the Doctor taught me, and I concentrate very hard. Not on anything in particular, just on being accepted. 'Imagine yourself,' the Doctor said, 'somewhere where you fit in perfectly, where you are absolutely essential to the smooth running of all operations.'

I think of Christmas, of buying the present for Rory's nan and writing the card in such a way that it didn't look like all he'd had to do was sign it and dropping that off on my way to pick up the turkey whilst calling next door to see if she signed for Rory's Christmas present in the post.

"You were quick," the Butler says. "Who called you?"

Which stumps me, because I'm still thinking of Christmas. Rory steps in. "One of your guests. We didn't get a name."

The Butler, insofar as Butlers ever can, smiles. "And they tell you the police are useless. Follow me, please."

He turns to lead off. Behind his back, Rory mouths at me, 'Police!' Hard to tell whether he's excited or concerned.

"Well," I tell him, soft as I can, "You've done this before."

He stares, blank. Rory doesn't remember that time he was a detective inside his head. The program, as the Doctor explained it to me, was uninstalled. There's a few bits and pieces still drifting about, but the bulk of it's gone. Still, the Butler turns his head enough to say, "Ah, training the rookie, are we?" I don't like the way he looks me over when he says that. It's got that whole 'silly little girl' feel about it.

If it turns out the Butler did it I am going to _enjoy_ fake-arresting him.

Rory's no better either.

"It's her first full investigation. Isn't it, DI Pond?"

"Yes," I tell him. And then I swallow and add, "Sir."

I get a look that tells me he likes that. He gets one that tells him not to get used to it.

Anyway, that's how we meet the Hardiwickes. As DI Pond and DCI Williams. And the Butler noticed the rings, so in the story we're married, but not to each other. In fairness, that helps me feel a bit happier about calling Rory 'sir'. That, however, is the least of our worries.

Mrs Hardiwicke, Rachel, is crying on her husband's shoulder. And Reed Hardiwicke looks like ash, visibly shaken.

Terrible business, they're saying amongst themselves. Poor man. Murdered. And in his own home.

Rory glances at me before anybody even speaks. Because if Reed Hardiwicke is standing in front of us, that leaves only one other man in the home to have been murdered.

The Butler speaks privately to his employers, who then raise their eyes to us. Rory takes his chance, slips the psychic from me and flashes it fast. "We're here about the death of Crayshaw Hannigan."

Mr Hardiwicke steps up to shake his hand. "Thank you for coming so quickly. It's been… It's been such a shock."

"We need you to keep the guests here," Rory says. "Nobody goes anywhere yet, alright?"

Well done indeed, DCI Williams. Some of his detective training is clearly still up there, because I wouldn't have thought of that. And he says it with the proper balance of professional and comforting. Hardiwicke dispatches the Butler to take care of that, and turns back to us. "I suppose you'll be wanting to see… Mr Hannigan."

No, not especially.

Again, Rory stops me saying anything stupid.

"Yes. He hasn't been moved?"

Hardiwicke doesn't exactly smile. Stretches out his face in a way that suggests there might be something amusing about this if a man wasn't dead. I think it's called a grimace. We're going to see soon enough what's so funny.

The Butler had taken us down through the house, away from the public areas and the guests. Now, the walls still have their gilded lamps and the floors are still marble buffed to mirrors, but nothing's so ornate anymore. No loveseats down the halls, no oil paintings hanging from the picture rails. And now Mr Hardiwicke takes us even further down, and through a plain door with the varnish wearing off it.

A workshop. Belonging to a sculptor. Chunks of marble here and there, and one large one at the centre of the room. It was being chipped away at the top, just the beginnings of a head starting to emerge. And here and there are chips on the floor and tools on workbenches. A workable, functional mess.

Here on the workbench is a doll. The face and hands and feet all in marble, probably from bits chipped off. The body hastily sewn, too lightly stuffed to support the weight. Floppy and horrible to look at, in a red and purple flowered dress.

And there is a statue here too which is finished. A statue of a young man, head turned shyly away, presenting a rose. Now, probably in some other life the unfinished chunk might have become a lady to have accepted it, and the two would have stood side by side somewhere, sweetly romantic forever and ever. That's not how it's happened, though.

The young gent is lying on his belly on the floor. On the chest of a thin man with a thin ragged beard. The rose has broken off at the stem, too delicate to take the fall, and is scattered away by the sculptor's outstretched hand. Still holding his chisel.

Now that Rory's here to help, him and Hardiwicke move the broken statue off Hannigan. Crushed. His chest and his throat are just completely crushed. He couldn't even have suffocated, everything must have just stopped. Now, I know I'm supposed to be a cop, so I'm trying to hold my own. And I thought I was doing a good job until Rory looked up at me. Looked worried. Wondering if I was coping. Not if I was giving us away, just if I was alright.

"DI Pond, if you could get a look at the plinth there?"

Nodding back over his shoulder. The plinth just looks like another block of marble now that there's nothing on it. But you can see the place where the feet on the statue must have been chipped away from it. I'm studying this with a slight squint, only touching it with the end of an awl from one of the workbenches, like you see on TV, and I _look_ like I know what I'm doing. Which is all I really need right now.

And then I hear snivelling. Somebody crying. Behind me and around to the right, behind where the new block will never be a figure. I stand quietly. Get a look around, make sure Reed Hardiwicke and my husband are busy looking over the body, where Rachel Hardiwicke can't take her eyes from it and is covering her mouth. Nobody is looking at me.

I turn the awl over in my hand. It becomes less of a delicate poking instrument, and becomes a potential weapon. And I slip back against the wall, edging along.

All this time, the sound of tears and sniffing. Someone who can't control their reaction. Guilt can get you like that. Fear.

I make my way step by careful step towards the dark of the corner, but there's nothing there. Just that the snivelling stops, in a sudden kind of way that means somebody's probably holding their breath. Looking back along the wall, there's an edge there, that I can only see now that I'm not blocking the light from the other end. There's a knothole in the wood panelling right next to said edge.

You don't have to be the great detective to reach out and pull that secret door open. But I like to think you do have to be brave.

Anything could fall out of there.

In the ideal world it's a vicious killer, thus neatly solving the mystery and giving me my own little moment. A moment in which Rory rescues me while I'm screaming, but nonetheless…

What it shouldn't be is a scared, sad little girl in pink pyjamas. Looking up at me with big heavy eyes and asking me if Mr Hannigan's alright. But that's what happens.


	3. Chapter 3

Her name is Astrid. Her mother sees and immediately rushes to her. Grabs her up to her chest with her head turned deliberately away from the body. And now, because she knows it's okay, the silent, selfish crying turns big and loud and Astrid clings to the arms that hold her.

What age is Astrid, about nine, ten?

Yeah, this is fine, this is fair. I was able to hug my daughter when she was ten. It may have been because Johnny Borden kept cutting up her paintings in school, but that's fine. That's fair. Mels was good at art.

And now Daddy Hardiwicke comes charging over, eases Astrid into his arms instead and says, stern and soft, "What were you doing sneaking around in the night?"

Astrid says she heard noises and everyone was running out of the ballroom and she didn't know what was going on and she was scared. Then asks again if Mr Hannigan is alright. Nobody says anything because nobody knows what to say. Rachel Hardiwicke leaves the room, fast, maybe about to cry again and not wanting Astrid to see. Reed hushes his little girl while she comes to terms with what she must have already known, or she wouldn't have asked.

And Rory is on his knees at the side of the fallen statue's plinth, not saying anything, not looking at them, but at the direction of the chisel marks. I've turned my back on the Reeds because I'm sure they don't want me watching. But it's harder to see Rory not watch anything. Eyes down, so deliberately. To know what he's feeling and not be able to say anything to him. If Rachel Hardiwicke wasn't standing in the hall, I'd pretend I was the good cop and take him outside to give them all a moment. Give us a moment too.

As it is, all I can do is stand and watch him. Bit of a shock then, when little Astrid sneaks up behind and tugs on my sleeve. All a bit close to the body, so I immediately turn my body between that and her.

"But I saw," she says, like it's all okay. "Who are you?"

"I'm Amy."

"Daddy says you're a policewoman."

"…Yep."

"You don't look like a policewoman."

Oh please, don't let us get caught by the little girl. Not because it would be embarrassing or anything like that, just because I don't want to have to go back and tell the Doctor we got rumbled by a ten year old. Never hear the end of it. "Well, we were off-duty, and they called us in to help. I'm sorry I scared you before, when you were hiding."

Astrid shakes her head. "You didn't scare me."

I look over her shoulder at her father. Reed Hardiwicke, like his wife, is really not in a very good place right now. Still shocked and who could blame him. A friend of his killed in his home. So I point down at Astrid and then up at the ceiling and mouth the word, 'Bed?' He nods, graciously, almost gratefully. Down here, the nastiness and the guests up in the hall, he can deal with all that. But not with Astrid. Not right now, when she's coping better than she is. I crouch and hold my hand out to her.

"I think we should get you back to your room. What do you think?"

She thinks about it, doesn't like it, but then again, I _am_ a policewoman. Astrid takes my hand and tugs, leading off. I look back at Rory before I go. He's not looking back.

"Sir?" I say. With the eye farthest from Reed Hardiwicke, I wink.

"I'll be alright here," he tells me, nods me out the door.

Astrid stops in the hallway to say goodnight to her mother. Rachel Hardiwicke composes herself just long enough to get through that and put a hand on my arm. She loses her breath again before she can say thank you, and I hurry Astrid away.

She leads me through corridors in every colour of marble and gilt, velvet curtains pooling on the floor and silks that flutter when you pass them.

Thinking of me and Tardis I ask her, "Do you ever get lost in all these rooms?"

"No. I know all the rooms. It's _my_ house." And that's how you know for sure she's _never_ met the Doctor. "It's much quicker through the secret house, though."

"The secret house?"

"Where you found me. There are secret hallways and stairs that nobody else knows about. I can go anywhere."

Secret passageways. Told you this was a house out of a fairytale.

Astrid stops at double doors, at the top of a wide, sweeping staircase and pushes them both open. Her bedroom. Perfect white and sugar-pink. Carpet so thick you sink in it. The walls not painted but _carved_ with dozens of ballerinas, the whole corps-de-ballet in the middle of the Nutcracker. Astrid sees me looking and says, "I used to want to be a ballerina."

She seems a bit young to have moved on for a dream like that, but I don't question it. Not right now. There are other, more distracting things here. Like, for instance, on one side of the bed is a pink bedside table with a little lamp and a clock and beautiful hardback copies of _Peter Pan_ and _The Wizard Of Oz_. And on the other there's a white metal locker with the red medical cross painted on it. Behind a glass panel, little pill bottles and syringes in sterile packaging. And a huge big padlock on the front of it.

Astrid's bed is the four-poster type, endless frills of pink and white lace. Piled up against the big heap of pillows are dozens of those dolls again, like the one I saw in the workshop. Most of them slightly better made than that one. Just as creepy, though… Anyway, coming out from under the big puffy canopy are plastic sheets that zip open and closed on either side. The whole thing attached by a big silver hoover tube to what I imagine to be an air purifier. Hermetically sealed.

And it's because I have no idea how to go about putting her to bed that I say yes when Astrid asks me if I want to meet her friend.

She goes to the wall and takes the outstretched hand of one of the ballerinas. Two of the delicate fingers click down and part of the wall eases back from the rest. It's on castors or something, because Astrid just pushes it to one side. She only as to bend to walk through, but I have to outright crawl.

The other side is a gallery above a ballroom. The drinks and the little trays of canapés are still on the tables where they were abandoned earlier when Hannigan was killed. And yet it looks like the party is still going on. I thought Astrid's walls where intricate, but that's nothing, _nothing_, compared to the whole world going on beneath us now. The stone world. All the colours of marble turned into stunningly beautiful people, perfect down to the details of their dress.

Up here on the little gallery they've carved Astrid too. Pale with skinny little arms, rosy, strawberry blonde hair. Even the pyjamas are the same. Sitting where she can always watch. And there's nobody else here, so I can only presume that this is the friend she's talking about.

"You won't believe me," Astrid says, before she's even told me anything. "No grown-ups ever believe me."

"Believe you about what?"

"That she talks to me. That she comes into my head sometimes so she can go around the secret house."

Astrid sits down next to her friend, the same pose, with her legs hanging out over the side and one hand down to support herself. Their hands side-by-side, their fingers overlap. Same white, stubby, little girl fingers. So I fold my legs and sit behind the two of them.

"I believe you."

"You're just saying that."

"No I'm not. When I was your age, I had a friend too. And people said he didn't exist, but he came back and now I see him all the time… Too much, sometimes, if I'm honest."

Astrid turns towards me, and her face is both sad and excited somehow. "Mr Hannigan made my friend… Did somebody make your friend for you?"

"No, he's a real person… nearly. He crash-landed in my back garden and made me cook for him."

"Oh, well, my friend doesn't eat."

"Does your friend have a name?"

Astrid's little brow furrows. Those couple of fingers tighten over their marble match. "She doesn't need one. She's just my friend."

"But doesn't that get confusing with your other friends?"

And Astrid looks down at those hands and doesn't say anything, and looks at me from the corner of her eye. Turns sullen, sits considering how to answer me. She doesn't have any other friends, does she? Oh, dead bodies in the house, that she can cope with, but my God, Amy Pond, do not suggest to a little girl that she's a loner, not ever. I can't believe I was so stupid.

Too quick, trying to fix it all, "I mean like _me_."

Astrid opens her mouth to answer, then turns, _absolutely_ as though she just heard something, to the statue on her right. "What? Okay." Back to me, "She says she's still my Friend. You can just be Amy. Because you're a grown-up. You're not really a proper friend."

Before I can take offence at that (not that I would, because she's a kid and I totally understand where she's coming from and I'm not offended), Rory and the Hardiwickes walk into the ballroom below.

"I told you so," says Reed Hardiwicke, with a comforting arm around his wife. Rachel manages a sad smile and no words. "Bedtime, Miss. Polthorpe's on his way up to tuck you in." And zip up the plastic bubble and switch on the air and administer all the medicines. Polthorpe must be the Butler. I suppose I can stop capitalizing Butler now. It's just the Doctor told me once that Butlers are a breed apart, and I didn't know if he was being literal or not. "Straight down the stairs and round to the left, Detective," he says to me. "You'll see the open door."

I want to stay. I want to read Astrid a chapter out of _Peter Pan_ and give her her favourite doll to cuddle and a kiss on the forehead before I just walk off and leave her. Instead, like proper little friends, when Polthorpe pokes his balding head through into the gallery, I can only smile and wave as she is taken away from me, then sneak out after her.

Downstairs, seeing the ballroom from below, it's even more spectacular. A little eerie, to be surrounded by people who neither move nor talk, but truly beautiful. And the vaulted ceiling carved up in fretting and pattern and hung with birds and angels.

"Makes you wish we were here under better circumstances, doesn't it, Pond?" Rory's got both hands stuck firmly in his pockets so he won't put his arms around me.

"Certainly does, sir." And so that my hands won't go looking for his, I reach out and put one on Mrs Hardiwicke's shoulder. "And might I say your daughter's a wonderful young girl." It doesn't quite have the comforting effect I had expected. In fact, rather the opposite. Where the tears had been under control they start brimming again. Which is when I think of all the medical gear upstairs and oh, just maybe, I should have kept my mouth shut.

But she's a lady of the manor, so she manages a trembling, stiff-upper-lip of a thank you and folds in to her husband.

"Astrid's very dear to us," he says, with finality. That topic is over, it seems. "Detectives, we hope you'll be comfortable to stay here for as long as you need. Obviously we'll do everything we can to help. All the people you requested to be kept here have agreed to stay, so I see no reason you might not pick up your investigation in the morning."

"That sounds fine," says DCI Williams, deferently, respectfully. Not much of a cop at all, really, is he?

Two rooms have been prepared, back upstairs. Hardiwicke takes us there. Before his footsteps have quite faded, I slip out my door and through Rory's just as he opens it, expecting me. Right there at the door, no time to go anywhere, he holds me and I stand in his arms. He shudders, "Oh, God, are we police officers?"

"In a murder investigation."

With a weak twitter of laughter, "Williams and Pond, on the case."

"The man's dead, Rory."

"You totally smiled."

Yeah, I totally did. This is the first time I've been able to breathe properly since we set foot in this place.

"I'm sorry I left you with all that."

"That's alright. You'll be better at interviews than I am."

So what now? Stop now, in the middle of all this, and tell him I think the little girl is sick or worse and all alone and talks to a statue? No. No, another time for that. No, right now, in the middle of all this, it's time not to be cops, or parents, or anything except us. Just time to lie down with my back pressed to his chest and his arms around me, thanking God that the rooms might be single but in a house this size the beds are always double.


	4. Chapter 4

_I hope they're having a good time. They've been so busy all day, so many questions to ask of so many people. And I don't think they got anywhere either. You could tell from the way they started sighing, from how tired they looked. They still look tired. They're not dancing. My Friend says they're being spoilsports, but I think they're just tired._

_ Tonight, everyone at the ball is wearing black. Not all over, just in their sashes or their feathers. This is because Mr Hannigan is dead and it means that they care and are here in his honour. All the stone people have been given black shawls and armbands and jewellery too. _

_ Detective Pond, Amy, is wearing a long black scarf wrapped once around her neck and falling down her back almost to the floor. It's Mum's and I know because I've seen it before. Mum went to talk to Amy today. _

_ Should I call her Amy or Detective Amy?_

_ "Detective Amy. Then maybe you'll remember she's a grown-up and not your proper friend like me."_

_ My Friend can be really horrible sometimes, but I suppose she's sort of right._

_ Mum went to see Detective Amy today because she was so upset last night. She introduced herself properly and Detective Amy was really, really nice to her. I think she's really, really nice to everybody. She was to me. _

_ "That's because you're dying. Grown-ups have to be nice to you."_

_ Stop it, because that's not right, because Detective Amy didn't know I was dying and I know because Mum had to tell her, so _there. _Meanie… I was in the secret house and watching into the room where they were doing their proper police interviews. Amy… Detective Amy, even, she asked why Mum was organizing another ball for tonight when she was clearly still upset. And then Mum had to tell her why they have the parties every night, because of me, so I can watch. And then she promised to give her something black to wear and that's why Detective Amy is wearing her scarf._

_ She's still the most beautiful woman at the ball. She's more beautiful than the stone people even. _

_ I wait for My Friend to say something, but she doesn't. I don't think she cares. I used to think the stone people had to be, like, her brothers and sisters or something, but I'm not sure anymore. Or maybe she just thinks Detective Amy is the most beautiful woman too._

_ And Inspector Williams is the most handsome man._

_ "No he's not."_

_ Yes he is._

_ "He's really, really not."_

_ He is. And he has to be anyway otherwise they wouldn't be married._

_ "They're not."_

_ They are; I saw their rings._

_ "But not to each other, stupid. Polthorpe said. They're both just married but to other people."_

_ Well, _I_ saw them in the garden together this afternoon when they were taking a break and they were kissing, so they must be. Or else they're having an affair… But Detective Amy wouldn't do that, would she? She's a policewoman and she's really nice, so why would she do that?_

_ "Either way, they're both liars. They're grown-ups anyway, so they have to be liars. That's why everybody's so nice to you. Because you're dying and grown-ups are liars."_

_ Stop it!_

_ I don't even _care_. Someday I'm going to get married and it's going to be to someone really strong and brave and handsome like Inspector Williams_.

_"Better hurry up, then."_

_ No, because I can get married in heaven, duh_…

_ "No you can't. They don't have priests in heaven because God's just there, so they don't need them."_

_ But they have angels and an angel can marry us. It's going to be super-special, and he'll be the best husband ever because he's already got into heaven so he has to be a nice person._

_ "There is no heaven anyway."_

_ Oh no-no-no, you're so bad, you can't say that, God's watching you, you can't say that._

_ "He's not watching me, he's not there. There's no heaven. You just die and go in the ground and rot. Mr Hannigan said. And now he's going to go in the ground and-"  
>No-no-no, you can't say that<em>

_ "-and all the worms are going to come and eat his toes and the rats are the biggest ones, so they can fight and get the eyes and the tongue because they're juicy."_

_ No, you're really horrible, you can't-_

_ "I can, because it's true. And that's what going to happen to you. You're just going to go into the ground and worms are going to eat you. It's not fair. You're going to rot and I just have to sit here _forever_.'_

_ She's being really stupid and mean and I don't feel well, so I'm going to bed. I'm going to get up and go to bed. But when I try to get up, her hand is round my wrist. _

_ Sometimes she holds a bit of my pyjamas, but I can pull it away. She's never moved this much before. _

_ "No," she says, "Don't go. I want to dance and we have to wait until the grown-ups go."_

_ So I hide behind her so Mum and Dad won't see._

_ Around her head, I watch. Detective Amy sees me, and she smiles up, gives me the smallest little wave that nobody could possibly ever notice and doesn't tell on me for staying up too late. All she does is lean over to Inspector Williams. And he smiles up at me too. Then Detective Pond takes his hand and lets him lead her up onto the dancefloor. Just for me. Just special for me because they know why Mum and Dad throw their parties. Just special for me._

_ My Friend is hurting me. Her fingers round my wrist. She's hurting me._

I couldn't sleep.

Such a grand ball right after a man was murdered. I can pretend I understand, and I pretended for Rachel Hardiwicke, but I don't not really. And that story going about, that the statue just fell on him. It didn't. It was painstakingly chipped away from its base and then shoved when Hannigan was in position. Even Rory and I can tell that much. Again, I can pretend I understand why. There can be no unpleasantness here. And not just for the usual avoiding-a-scandal reasons, but because of Astrid. Astrid doesn't have long, there's going to be unpleasantness soon enough.

But I wouldn't lie about it.

And how can they believe when they know that Inspector Williams and I are still here, that we're still talking to people, still looking into it?

But they don't, do they?

They don't believe.

They're pretending, like I am, like they all pretend the little girl isn't watching from the gallery.

Okay, so I understand, fine. But I still don't feel any better for it, and I still can't sleep. I need to go for a wander. But if I leave this room for the usual glass of water, chances are I'm going to get lost and spend all night freezing my feet on those marble floors everywhere.

So I ease out from under Rory's arm and go looking for a pair of slippers first.

If anybody asks, I was looking for the kitchens, so I suppose that means I have to go downstairs. That's what brings me back to the ballroom. Still warm, holding the heat of all those people and their laughing, the warmth of the music and the love. Looking, almost, as though they're all still here.

Astrid calls them the stone people. Here's one looking jealously across the room, directly at a couple wound around each other, too close to be properly dancing. Here's a little boy hiding behind the skirt of his mother's gown. Across the room a fat old woman who's had to sit down with a full ostrich fan in one hand and the other hanging down useless over the arm of the chair.

Here's one I almost miss, sitting on the skirting with her chin between her fists, not looking at me, very delicately trembling with the effort of staying so perfectly still.

"Astrid?"

There's a pause, no more than half a second, but she doesn't look immediately to me. She looks up instead, wide-eyed and lips parted. And looking right back down at her through the gallery bars is her stone person Friend. Then she looks at me. "Don't tell Mum and Dad on me."

I make sure to smile. I hold one hand out to her and with the other I cross my heart. "Swear. But I think we should get you back to bed."

Astrid isn't wearing her pink pyjamas tonight. She's wearing an old ballet practice dress, a little bit too small for her, gone stiff and faded with age. She _used_ to want to be a ballerina.

"Looks to me like you still want to be a ballerina."

"No, it's not me, it's my Friend. I have to come down and dance. She can't feel it unless it's me. When it's the Ball she can only watch."

Rachel Hardiwicke explained to me that Astrid can't really have friends, can't have prolonged contact with anybody outside the family. I really shouldn't be doing what I'm doing. So the statue was a gift to her from Hannigan, and a gift to them too. When Astrid's gone, it'll still be there, still watching the parties they still intend to have below, in her honour. But Astrid's gone and got a bit more attached than anybody thought. Her Friend is her excuse for everything. And they indulge her, because what else can they do?

"Doesn't your friend ever need to sleep?"

"No, she's made of stone. Does your friend need to sleep?"

"Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think so. He runs off and has adventures when I'm sleeping."

"He doesn't sound like a very good friend. Why doesn't he take you with him?"

"He does, but only when I'm awake. When I was young, before he came back, it was the other way round. He only used to take me with him when I was dreaming."

"What kind of places did he take you to?"

"Oh, everywhere. Mars and Planet Zog and the Edge of the Universe."

"_Boring_. We used to go to Mars on holiday every year and I don't like it there anymore."

"We go better places now that he's really properly back."

"Have you ever been to Neverland?"

"Oh yeah. Neverland and Wonderland and Oz in a night."

"So if you're always travelling with your friend then how are you a Detective here on Grex?"

Oh, she's good. Best kid ever, this one. Reminds me of somebody, actually, with her white skin and her ginger hair and complete fearlessness. Can't _think_ who.

"Because we're space detectives. Special detectives, all over the place, only taking on the best, maddest cases." Which is true, sort of, except for the part where I lied. Oh, so this is how the Doctor does it. Just sort of happens, really.

"Is this a best mad case?"

In that your house is the best, Astrid, and you'd have to be mad to believe I was a cop. "_Oh_ yeah."

Which brings us back to her room. She walks right up and switches the air purifier on by herself. It hums gently as she climbs into bed. I walk up, pull the duvet up under her chin and roll her up tight until she giggles.

"Will you tell me a story before you zip it up, Detective Amy?"

"Sure." I reach out and start going through the books on her bedside.

"No, not one of those stories."

But they're all in hardbacks with nice flock covers and they have colourful pictures and they look really good. "Aw…"

"A story about you and your friend, like me and mine."

She makes room for me, shoving all the dolls to one side. One rolls off the side and its marble face hits the floor with a thunk.

"Careful," I tell her, "You'll damage them."

"Mr Hannigan only ever made them for me when he had big chips-off. He knew I'm too old for them. They're too babyish to properly play with."

So that's me told, then. I sit on the edge of her bed and take a deep breath, organize my thoughts, and I begin. "Alright. This is the story of me and the Doctor and the bad thing that lived in my spare room for twelve years and I didn't even notice it."

"The _Doctor_?" Astrid says. Interrupting before I get a chance to even start, and a bit too loud for the time of night. "Your friend is the _Doctor_?"

"Yeah. So?"

"No… No, nothing. Tell me the story."


	5. Chapter 5

"_You abandoned me last night."_

_ "She would have told Mum and Dad on us. And you said I'm not allowed to talk to them about you."_

_ "Oh, but you talked to her, though. You talked to Detective Amy. Is she your best friend now, Astrid?"_

_ "No, you're my best friend, but she was really, really nice, and-"_

_ "I don't care. She knows that Doctor, and now I'm going to be in real trouble. It's your fault, Astrid. Even if there was a heaven, you wouldn't be getting into it."_

_ "Stop it! Stop saying that!"_

_ "Look, they can't stay here anymore. Not if you want to go and see the angels. You have to keep an eye on them so we can figure out how to get rid of them."_

_ "But I don't _want_ to get rid of them!"_

_ "I don't care. If you get me in any more trouble, then the Devil will come, and-"_

_ "Alright, alright… I'll watch them."_

_ They finished interviewing people this morning. It was like I thought, yesterday; they didn't get anything. Everybody who wasn't in the ballroom when Mr Hannigan got killed was able to tell them where they were and it all worked out. So they still don't know who could have done it. Which means, because they're detectives like on TV, they have to go back to where the crime was. _

_ Underneath my bed, there is a secret angel carved into the wall. If you turn her so she's flying on her side and not straight up, the trapdoor opens and you can slide it up and go into the secret house. Between the walls is warm, with a wooden plank to walk along and beams on the walls. I keep my torch hanging from one of them, and it makes everything red and yellow ahead of me. The secret house hallway runs along the back of the ballroom, above where the band sit, and at the end there is a little lift. All I have to do is stand on it and it takes me down. _

_ My Friend is with me. Not up and running around and trying to be very quiet like I am, but with me. It's like she's standing right behind me, very close, but when I turn around there's nothing to see. She's just there, part of me. _

_ I can run along behind the kitchen, where I have to be especially quiet, otherwise they think I'm a rat in the wall and Mrs Falstaff, who is the cook, starts screaming, and then I climb up into the crawlspace next to Dad's drawing room and go along there. Then there's another lift, right down to Mr Hannigan's workshop. And I'm allowed to be there because he told me I could go down anytime I pleased, so that's okay. I come here all the time. Mr Hannigan was teaching me to chisel because I asked him._

_ Detective Pond and Inspector Williams are already there. He is sitting in Mr Hannigan's chair, and she is sitting on the edge of the workbench, and one foot is on the arm of the chair. I probably shouldn't watch. I don't know why, nothing's happening, but I just feel like I probably shouldn't watch._

_ "What else can we do?" Detective Pond says._

_ Inspector Williams answers her, but it's like he's not really listening. He's touching her ankle with his fingertips instead. "We've missed something. Probably something really obvious."_

_ "It's not; you just know that's what the Doctor would say if he were here."_

_ "Yeah, that's it," says my Friend, "Talk about him. Tell me about your Doctor, about the man who's coming to _fix_ me, talk about _him_."_

_ Inspector Williams sits up and does a little mime like he's playing with a tie. The kind the men at the balls wear with their tuxedos. Then he does an impression that must be of their Doctor friend, "Elementary, my dear Ponds_,_" and Detective Amy giggles. "Right, let's think about this one more time. What do we know?" _

_ While he talks, he takes off her shoe. Which is beautiful, plain red satin like a ballet shoe. And if I'd been able to keep dancing and was going to be eleven someday, I would have worn red shoes. There's a ballet about that. I was going to be in it, and be the Swan and Giselle and all of them. I was going to do that before I was eighteen and be the youngest prima ballerina on Grex and I would have worn red satin shoes when I went out to meet my public. That would be my signature. Like Detective Amy._

_ "Well, sir, it would seem to me that whoever murdered Crayshaw Hannigan would have had to have been in the house the better part of Tuesday."_

_ "Because they had to chisel away the feet of the statue. Excellent deduction, Pond."_

_ "They also had to have some way to keeping Hannigan out of his workshop all day in order for them to do this."_

_ "Also good. We should ask the Hardiwickes about that."_

_ "This person, as we so thoroughly found out yesterday, was not a guest at the ball."_

_ "Which doesn't leave us an awful lot of suspects, does it, Pond?"_

_ "…Does it leave us any?"_

_ "Um…"_

_ While he's thinking, he sets her foot down. Just long enough to pick up her shoe and start putting it back on. But it makes my Friend hold our breath. "Oh my God, she has such gorgeous feet."_

_ "Yeah, I suppose so."_

_ "Shut up, I wasn't asking, I was telling. They're nicer than yours anyway. They're not stupid pudgy little girl feet like _yours_."_

_ Inspector Williams stops thinking and says, "Just the family and the staff."_

_ "We _interviewed_ the family and the staff, everything checks out_._"_

_ "Then somebody else snuck in, killed Hannigan, and then snuck back out again. We're missing something…"_

_ A long, long pause between them. My Friend still can't breathe properly. Nothing to do with feet anymore._

_ Then Detective Pond gasps, jogs his arm with her toes, "Rory, the phone call. That's why we're here, we never even thought about the phone call."_

_ "'It's alive,' he said, didn't he?"_

_ "Maybe we're not looking for a person after all."_

_ She jumps down from the workbench, starts searching it instead of sitting on it. "What are you looking for?"_

_ "He was an artist, right? There has to be a diary, a sketchbook, some kind of notes."_

_ "Does there? What do you know about artists?"_

_ "Oh, that's right, you didn't exist at the time."  
>"You <em>forgot_ that I didn't exist?"_

_ "That's kind of how it works, remember? You never happened."_

_ "Yeah, but you remember me now so surely you should know what I was around for and when I, as you so nicely put it, didn't ex-"_

_ "Found it."_

_ She has Mr Hannigan's journal. It has a leather cover that wraps around, but it's cracked and old at the edges, and there's a big cut in the front that he did with a chisel and if it wasn't for his journal he'd have one finger less._

_ Would have had…_

_ "Oh, don't start crying again," my Friend says. "They'll hear us." _

_ I bite the end of my plait to stop myself making any noise. Detective Amy is opening Mr Hannigan's journal on the desk and they're both leaning over it, going to the last entries. _

_ Inspector Williams reads out loud, all about the night I told Mr Hannigan about my Friend. Even the bits I didn't tell her about. I feel her go all hard and stop talking to me even though she doesn't tell me she's not talking to me. But then he starts reading something else, the stuff Mr Hannigan wrote about it afterward when he wasn't just recording it. _

_ He wrote, "I have feared the stone girl for a long time now. Even at the moment of her completion I felt I had created something more than a mere image. There was a light in the eyes which admirers assume is the pinnacle of my work. And since none of them ever saw anything diabolical in it, I suppose I had almost forgotten, dismissed my own silly superstition. But it had always seemed to me that there was something just too lifelike about the expression and the pose. I say this not to flatter myself, but because now it transpires that my fears were better founded. Understand I do not fear for myself but for Astrid."_

_ That's what Inspector Williams reads out, so that must be what he wrote. I don't understand some of it… a lot of it, but my Friend does. And I know what he means about her. He means she's evil._

_ Meant. He meant._

_ My Friend wants to walk away from the spyhole, so we do, very quietly, back down to the end near the lift. _

_ "Why would Mr Hannigan have been scared about me?"_

_ "Because he was a mental old man, don't listen. He was a grown-up, Astrid, he was telling lies about me."_

_ "But Inspector Williams isn't a liar."  
>"Yes he is. You know I'm not going to hurt you. I'm the only one who even properly cares about you anymore."<em>

_ "No, because Mr Hannigan must have cared, because he was scared for me, he said so, he wrote it down."_

_ "Mr Hannigan is down in the ground-"_

_ "No he's not!"_

_ "-and all the worms are eating his toes-"  
>"No, stop it, he's in heaven."<em>

_ "-and the rats are fighting it out for his eyes, because that's what happens when you're human and you're dead. At least that's never going to happen to me."_

_ "Stop it, he's in heaven. That's where good people go when they die."_

_ "There's no heaven, Astrid. You're not going anywhere. And then I won't be able to go anywhere ever again. Even if there was a heaven, good people don't betray their friends like that."_


	6. Chapter 6

Rory's gone to talk to the Hardiwickes about why Hannigan wasn't in his workshop that day. I don't know what he thinks I'm doing. Probably he suspects.

I'm halfway down that half-mile driveway again. Just coming around the bend that hides the Tardis.

I don't care what he says, what he thinks of us. I need help and that's his job. Might not have mentioned that when I did the job description thing earlier, but that's only because you just don't even think about it, it's so natural. It's the job I was describing. Helping me.

But as I approach, it sounds like I might not be the only one that needs it.

There's shouting coming from inside the Tardis.

"This is _not_ what I meant!"

"Well, this is what it's going to _take_, River, so if you don't like it, you know what you can do."

"Fine. If you think I'm going to stay and watch you destroy-"

"Oh, don't let's be melodramatic…"  
>"-<em>destroy<em>, my love, something very delicate, something half-formed that's taken you a while to build and is far more important than you know-"

"Careful, darling, 'spoilers' and all."

"Oh, don't worry, I won't say another word."

"Fine! Don't then!"  
>"Fine!"<br>"Aha!"

"What?"

"'Fine' is a word, and so is 'what'."

I reach the door as River charges out through it. Trouble is she's already set her manipulator and by the time I ask her what's happening, she's gone. While the door's still swinging shut, I go through. "What, you thought because you pretended to walk out I'd get all contrite? Do me a favour…" I clear my throat and he looks up. "Oh, God, not you, not now…"

"What the _hell_ is going on?"

Beyond him, Jessica stands with both hands cuffed to the railing behind her. Maybe something to do with the metre long stake still oozing at the top driven into the floor by the console, or the suspiciously thick, dark something splattered on the casing of the time rotor River walked out so fast she left her gun behind, which isn't usual. And the Doctor, now that he's seen me, is leaning on the console with his head in his hands. Says, under his breath, "What do you want and how I can I make you go away?" Thinking I can't hear him.

"Answer me, Doctor, what's happened?"  
>"Nothing I hadn't anticipated."<p>

"And what did you do to River?"

"_Nothing_. Why do you always assume I've done something? Now what brings you back down from the house, Pond, how can I help you?"

"Because you usually _have_ done something and why is Jessica trying to bite a stake off her own arm?"

"So she can use it to pick the lock on the handcuffs, clearly. Heavens knows why after I _told_ her it wouldn't hurt!"

She stops gnawing just long enough to shout back, "Says that beforetimes though."

"'Before', Jessica, it's just 'before', you don't need to specify 'times'."  
>"<em>Alright!" <em>They both stop. Yeah, I might have been a tiny bit louder than I meant to be just then. But they stopped, so that's a bonus. It's just he never bothers to correct Jessica's speech. Says it'll come to her. Says it doesn't annoy him so long as he knows what she means. Whatever's going on, then, it must have been a bit stressful.

I point from him to Jessica, "Let her go."

Sullenly, not even looking, he opens the cuffs with the sonic. Jessica nods thank you at me, but says nothing out loud, only hurries shuffling up the stairs and into her room at the top. After the slam of the door there's dead silence. He's still standing there, right where he was. Hands in his pockets now, surveying the mess. Nods at River's gun and says, "Stick around a while. Your daughter's coming back."

I try to sound calm. Climb the stairs to him. Take him by the shoulders and put him down in his chair. "And why did she leave?"

"Just come back at the proper end, Pond. It'll be like none of this ever happened."

And he looks so sad, so let down, so exhausted, that I want to let it go. Even for River, even though I know that if Rory was here there would have been punches thrown by now, even though he knew this was going to happen and that's why he wanted us out of the way. Because of those things, maybe.

Because if he had less respect for us, he might just have dumped us somewhere and come back when he was done, rather than actually give us something to do.

"Tell me I shouldn't be worried and I won't be worried."

"What brings you back down from the manor, Amelia?"

Okay. Fine then. His game, his way. "Hannigan's dead."

The Doctor is only mildly interested. A little bit surprised, but that's all. "Then there was something to be scared of. Check the statues, he was probably talking about the statues." Told you it would be really, really obvious to him. I shift to be more comfortable, and go to lean on the stake in the floor. "No! Don't, that's in something delicate."

"What?"  
>"We couldn't figure it out, but it screamed when she speared it."<p>

"Jessica?"  
>"River. From up there… Sort of… <em>javelin-style<em>… Don't ask, long story."

"Anyway, Doctor, there's a little girl. Astrid."

"_Astrid_!" He jumps up, rushes to the console. "Now, listen, old girl, this is the third in the space of ten years." That was addressed to the Tardis but he turns his head now and says, in the same tone your meanest aunt uses when she's telling her friends about something bold you did, "It's an anagram of Tardis, you know." He types his question into the console and says it as he goes, "Tardis, are you stalking Astrids? They are not your sisters."

Then he waits.

Then he gasps. Whatever answer comes back he reels right back and hits the monitor with a stinging backhand slap that bloodies at least three of his knuckles. Which is what you get for battering inanimate objects, so if he thinks I'm going to clean him up he's got another thing coming.

"What did she say?"

With his undamaged hand he bats the monitor away so I can't see. "Never mind. Shouldn't pay her any attention when she's being naughty, we'll only encourage her."

"Doctor, you're not even listening to me."

"Sorry."

"She's _dying_. This little girl, she's sick and she hasn't got long to live." And now it dawns on him why I'm here. Let's face it, he's pulled some miracles out of that console in the time I've known him, not the least of which was the cure for a lethal blood clot, the antidote to some spooky dream dust only found on the opposite side of the universe and god knows how many kinds of antivenin for animals I'd never even heard of until I got bitten by them. This can't be coming out of the blue for him. And he's looking at me like he's about to kick me and he's sorry in advance. "What?"  
>"The Hardiwickes are the richest family in this system. What makes you think they haven't tried everything already?"<p>

"But what if you have something, some future time-cure type thing that can help?" A single, exhausted half-smile at the word 'time-cure'. He shifts up so there's room for me on the same seat and asks me to tell him what she has, how far gone she is, symptoms, details, the kind of medication she's already on. By the end of it we're just sitting there with his arm around me and he says _nothing_. Absolutely nothing. "You've got _nothing_, right?"

"It's a thing called Baden-Powell syndrome. They never do cure it. They can't even explain where it comes from. It's a force that just… takes a random victim and sucks the life out of them. No rhyme or reason, no logic to it. I'm sorry, Amy."

Don't be sorry. Just _do_ something. 'Sorry' is not what I came here to hear and honestly, you've been nothing but a disappointment since before I even set foot through the door. Frankly, I'm disgusted. I need help, and I come to you, and you tell me you're sorry, but there's nothing you can do and I just have to sit up in that big cold house and watch a little girl dying rather than dancing? Useless. Absolutely bloody useless. Tell you what, mate, when this is over you can just take me home, because I'm not going to be bothered with this anymore, frankly. I can't take it anymore. I'm going to go home and get fat and watch Loose Women and enjoy the fact that Rory can do nothing about it. In fact, keep Rory, run about with him, I'll be fine. But I'm not doing this anymore. I won't be fine if I keep doing this.

"That's alright, Doctor. I suppose I sort of knew you'd say that."


	7. Chapter 7

_I had a bad dream. I was lying down in the garden and I couldn't move. There were two huge big massive rats standing either side of my face, and they were arguing about which of them would get to eat my eyes. And my Friend came along with a big stick and knocked them both flying out into the bushes. She lay down next to me, and she wasn't cold like she normally is. She felt like skin, like me, and she had a heartbeat and was breathing and I felt cold and hard and I didn't have a heartbeat and wasn't breathing._

_ I must have shouted before I woke up, because Polthorpe's here. He's standing at the door, trying to close it. But somebody is out in the hallway and wants to know if I'm okay. Detective Amy._

_ "Stop it," I tell Polthorpe, "I want her."_

_ "You need your rest, young Miss," he says, but he's not really actually talking to me, he's talking to Detective Amy. Wants her to go away._

_ "I don't want to sleep, I want Detective Amy to come and talk to me."_

_ Before he lets her in he speaks to her very quietly. They think because of my bed and the air machine that I can't hear them. Friend tells me. She's here. She doesn't leave me much anymore. I think she was there when I was dreaming too, like maybe that really was her with the big stick, and with the proper beating heart._

_ Polthorpe tells Detective Amy, "It's not long now, see. The doctors came this morning and said she was best left to rest."_

_ She promises, "I won't annoy her." Then he lets her in, because I shout out again and tell him I want her to come in. But she's doing that thing now, that thing they all do when I'm Worse (and I've been Worse before, you know). She's walking like she doesn't want people to hear her and she's talking to me like I'm a dog just wandered up to the back door and she doesn't know if I'm going to bite her. "Hi, Astrid."_

_ My Friend says, "See? She's just a grown-up like the rest of them. She just feels sorry for you, she doesn't actually care."_

_ "Shut up," I say._

_ "Sorry," Detective Amy says._

_ "No, not you. Will you sit with me?"_

_ "Yeah, of course." She unzips the plastic and sits down. Polthorpe glares at her, started as soon as she touched the zipper. I tell him to go out and close the door, and when he doesn't, I tell him again. "I was just looking for Rory and I heard you shout. Are you okay?"_

_ "Who's Rory?"  
>"Um, sorry… Inspector Williams."<em>

_ "He's your husband, isn't he?"_

_ "Yes. But shh. That's a secret."_

_ My Friend says, "Told you so. Liar-liar, pants on fire." So that I won't be able to hear her, I ask Detective Amy where she was before. _

_ "I went to see the Doctor. I wanted to ask him something." My Friend makes our hands into fists, says yeah she'd bet Detective Amy wanted to ask. Tells me I was supposed to stop her doing that and that I betrayed her and the Devil will come for my soul. _

_ "Did he answer you?"_

_ "No. Well, yes. But it wasn't the answer I needed."_

_ So the Devil must be coming for him too, because that's what happens when you don't give your friends the help they need. But my Friend says that actually that can't happen because the Doctor _is_ the Devil, and that's why we were supposed to stop him coming. _

_ And I don't want to listen to her. I don't want her to tell me anymore because I really, really don't feel well and I don't want her to tell me. I ask Detective Amy to sit up at my end of the bed, and I turn the pillow against her so I can lean there. She puts her arm around me and you'd think my Friend might shut up now because clearly she's a nice person and not just another lying grown-up, but she doesn't. Detective Amy asks me again why I shouted before and this time I tell her I had a bad dream, and I ask her what kind of dreams she used to have about her friend when she was my age._

_ "Oh, really great dreams. The best kind of dreams. About going everywhere and doing everything and meeting the Romans and flying away to Neverland."_

_ "Really, _really_ great dreams."  
>"The best dreams, Astrid. That's why I nearly didn't believe in him for a while."<em>

_ "What?"_

_ "I thought he was too good to be true. That maybe, after all, I _had_ just imagined it all. I was… a little bit older than you. And I was going to big school with my two best friends. I didn't want people to laugh at me, and I knew they would. So I tried not believing for a while. And it was actually kind of easy. Easier than getting teased about my imaginary spaceman friend anyway-"_

_ "The worst kind of liars," my Friend says, "start when they're still just proper kids."_

_ "_Shut up_!" I say._

_ "Sorry, do you want me to leave now?"_

_ "Not you, Detective Amy. Why was it easy forgetting your friend?"_

_ "Because it's _mental_. Raggedy man crash-lands dated blue box in back garden, enforced bacon frying, fish fingers and custard, I mean, come on!"_

_ "Fish fingers and custard?"_

_ "Yeah, that's what he ended up wanting to eat that night."_

_ "Such a liar. Making up fairy stories to amuse you because you're going to die and you're just sitting there believing her. You're so stupid."_

_ "Astrid? Who are you talking to? I'm not lying, by the way, that's what he ate. That's what he still eats when he's had a bad day and he thinks nobody knows about it, but who are you talking to?" Detective Amy is looking at me very strangely. I think those words came out of me, before. Otherwise she wouldn't have been able to hear them. Nobody can hear my Friend talk but me. _

_ "Nobody. It doesn't matter. Did you still dream about him, when you were trying not to believe in him?"_

_ "Yeah. Only made it easier. Because I'm having all these wonderful dreams about amazing adventures, and I'm having this really boring life when I'm awake. Obviously I would have dreams like that. I must have made it up. When you dream about perfect things they don't usually turn out to be true."_

_ "Like heaven…"_

_ "Astrid?"  
>"I used to dream about heaven, but there isn't a heaven."<em>

_ Detective Amy puts her arm tighter around me and takes my hand. "'Course there is."_

_ She's a grown-up, though. She has to say that to me because I'm dying. Like my Friend said._

_ "The Doctor turned out to be real, didn't he?"_

_ "There isn't a heaven." My Friend says it, but the words come out of me. "There isn't. You're just going to go in the ground and rot and the worms are going to have you for dinner."_

_ My Friend stretches out our fingers between Detective Amy's and says, "Stubby. I like hers better."_

_ And I can't say anything, like we can't both be talking, and I can't move, like we can't both be moving. And it's too weird and I really, really don't feel well anymore. I want Polthorpe back. I want the doctor back. I want Mum and Dad and Detective Amy's Doctor and Mum and Dad. And Mum and Dad._

_ Everything starts going red and white, like me and my Friend can't look out of the same eyes at the same time. _

_ "Astrid?" says Detective Amy. And yes, I'm in here, but I can't tell her that. "Astrid?" And then she starts shouting for Polthorpe, for anybody to come and help. The red and white start going dark._

_ And in the dark my Friend says, "Quickly. Tell me. You're dying and you're going to go in the ground and rot."_

_ "No, no, I don't want to."_

_ "And I'm going to have to sit on that gallery forever and never move again. But you won't rot and I'm not doomed if you promise to give me your body. Say yes, Astrid, otherwise worms are going to eat your toes off in the ground."_

_ "Yes. Yes, okay, anything, just don't let the worms eat my toes. Whatever you want, just don't let the rats come."_

_ "The rats will come, Astrid."_

_ "Yes, okay, I promise."_


	8. Chapter 8

This is it. We arrived the moment a man was murdered and we're leaving as soon as that little girl dies. I know it's wrong, I know there's still work to do here, but I don't care. Maybe I'm not as strong as the Doctor, but it doesn't make me harder, doesn't make me get tough about a thing, if somebody gets hurt. I'm not ashamed of that.

I tried to leave as soon as the parents arrived, but there was still enough of her there to say she wanted me to stay. Still didn't want to be in the way though. That's how come I'm out here on the gallery. With her Friend.

Poor kid. I know what it's like to be lonely. Letting her pretend the statue was talking to her was probably the best thing they could have done. All the drugs and all the rest is nothing. A lonely little girl will waste away under the best of circumstances.

The Doctor said that, in the future, when they take all these isolated cases of mysterious draining disease in individuals who were previously social recluses (his words, not mine) and realize they're all related, they call it Baden-Powell Syndrome. Baden-Powell was the guy who set up the Boy Scouts. Getting all the lonely little kids together so they wouldn't be lonely anymore. And it never has a cure, but for now it doesn't even have a name.

The Hardiwickes are in there watching something kill their daughter and they don't even have a name to curse it by.

We're leaving the second this is over.

"Yeah, you better." Who said that? Seriously. It sounded like there was somebody right next to me, somebody talking right in my ear. Threatening, actually. "You think anybody still believes you're a policewoman? You've well outstayed your welcome. Just go now, she's all but dead anyway."

"Okay, who's there?"

"Amy?" This, not from the voice, but from Rory. Putting his head through the little hatch. He climbs right out after me. "Who were you talking to?"

I sigh, shake it off. "I don't even know. I think I'm losing it."

"Oh, don't do that."

"Okay then." We don't really fit up here. Even sitting back against the wall our feet are sticking out through the balustrade. It's ridiculous. I pull mine in and curl up against Rory. "It's not fair."

"I know. It's alright, they've expected this. They're ready."

"No, but it's really, _really_ not fair."

"I know."

A while passes in silence, but I don't like it. Not with that stone Astrid right next to us, not with all those stone people below, and all the sad ones in the next room.

"So where was Hannigan all day Tuesday, then?"

Rory's surprised I'm even asking, at first, but it doesn't take him long to catch on. I need this now. I need his voice and something other than Astrid drifting away to think about. "Oh, well, apparently, because Astrid's his goddaughter, he makes her these dolls. Or he makes the bodies and faces out of marble off-cuts and then a woman in town does the rest of the doll."

"Yeah, I saw them in her room."

"Well, he'd sent one away weeks ago and it wasn't finished yet. Apparently Tuesday, Astrid really started going at him over it. So he went into town to get it finished and bring it back. We saw it, actually. It's still down in the workshop."

No. Wait.

Go back.

We've heard Astrid talk about Hannigan. She loved him. Real, proper, favourite-uncle-type loved him. No way she was going to pounce him over a doll she already had a dozen of.

And no way that doll would still be lying in the workshop if she knew it was there. She's been down there since. She just sat and talked to me about rotting and worms eating her toes, so I think we're safe to say death and ghosts hold no fear for her.

Can't help thinking about Astrid telling me to 'shut up'. Only then denying she meant me. Had to mean me, there was nobody else in the room.

I'm looking, without properly knowing why, at Astrid's Friend.

Then there's another head at the hatch and I forget.

Polthorpe, looking deeply unhappy. He spits out a message like it's rancid meat. "She's asking for _you_ again, Miss."

He can think what he wants, the Hardiwickes can think what they want, I'm out that trapdoor fast as it lets me. And as soon as I put my head through, Astrid tries to sit up, breathing too hard, tries to call over from the bed. They've thrown back the plastic sides. They probably never did her any good at all. Her mother is holding her, and she reaches one little girl hand out towards me.

"Detective Amy… You… you never finished telling me."

"What didn't I finish?"  
>"What made you decide to believe in him again?"<p>

This isn't about the Doctor, this is about heaven. The people around us can think what they want. This is about heaven and I don't care.

"The plate. The bread and butter plate. The night I told you about when he didn't know what he wanted to eat, he decided he didn't like bread and butter. And he threw it out the front door. And I'd been bad and my aunt made me pull the weeds around the shed. The new shed they put in the place where he'd crashed on the old one. And I was pulling the weeds, and I broke my fingernail on something, and it was the plate. And that's how I knew it had happened."

"No, but it didn't mean, because it could have been any-" She breaks off because she can't breathe, because she's shaking her head. Astrid's scared. And from the moment I met her, Astrid was more than ready for this moment coming. Maybe it's different when it's right on the doorstep, but I don't think that's the reason she's suddenly afraid.

"But it wasn't, Astrid. That's the point. Sometimes you just know something in your heart. And most of the time that's what makes it real. It doesn't matter what anybody else says."

She stares then. And then her mother rolls her up close and I step back and away from it all. Right into Rory. He must have followed me and I'm glad of him.

Strangest thing.

That little girl's last words were, "Unpromise, okay?"


	9. Chapter 9

I lie awake in Rory's bed. Not that I've slept anywhere else while we've been here. I go next door and muss up the bed in the morning, so we don't scandalize Polthorpe, but I think he knows now anyway.

Rory fell asleep a while ago. I made myself stop crying because I knew that's what he was staying awake for. Felt bad. It's not so bad now. The actual noisy sobbing type crying, that's stopped. This way is okay. And Rory's head is on my shoulder, and I can run my fingers through his hair, and he's heavy and warm up against me. In a good way, of course. I don't mean 'heavy'-heavy, just heavy, like normal-heavy, I'm overthinking this. He's sleeping, I can say whatever I want. Yeah, he really does have the most enormous nose. It's a lovely nose, I really like it, but it is huge.

Yeah, he's definitely asleep.

See? I'm fine. I'm thinking about Rory's nose; couldn't be that torn up after all, could I?

It's not fair.

That doll. Rory says it was still lying on the workbench. I don't remember the doll. I tore that workbench apart looking for the journal and I don't remember a doll. And something about that whole story just didn't sound right.

Can't sleep anyway. And I still have those slippers I found the other night lying at the end of the bed. Oh, yeah, that would have given us away to Polthorpe alright. The pink furry slippers… I dry my eyes, slide Rory's head onto the pillow and wait until he snuggles into it before I get up.

There's no harm in checking this out. It's not like snooping. Astrid's dead. So far as I'm concerned this is all over. Like I said before, I'm going back now. I'm not like the Doctor; I'm not going to get all up in arms about this now that somebody I knew is dead. I'm going to curl up somewhere and snivel quietly to myself until I feel better. And that doesn't make me any less of a person either, thank you very much.

I know my way to the workshop now. It's one of three places I can find relatively quickly in this whole big labyrinth of a house.

Anyway, it's there.

Marble face, doll wig, same as the others. Bit on the scary side for my tastes, but whatever moved Astrid's furniture, I suppose. Each to their own.

Astrid told me she wasn't even all that into the dolls anymore, though. 'Mr Hannigan just gives them to me when he has scraps,' she said. 'They're too babyish to properly play with.'

So why would she pressure him over this one that particular day? And then not even come for it afterward…

Because it's pale, it catches the light. That is the only reason, the _only_, single, lone, sole reason, why I end up looking at the chisel-marked plinth in the dark, with the doll in my other hand. Only reason. Any other reason that may or may not have very quickly flown across my mind is just too ridiculous to even admit I considered it.

But I'm looking at it. A good long, shocked while too.

Until the scream. The scream takes me out of the stair. It's a raging, long, rattling scream, tearing somebody's throat out because the heart was torn out first. Something desperate and dying and, lucky for me, coming from above, near the ballroom. That's one of the other places I can find my way to, and I run.

Rachel Hardiwicke is at the end of the hall, hanging on the corner. Apparently she couldn't sleep either, wandered out in her nightie same as me. She looks frightened half to death, barely breathing, without the words to tell me what she saw. She only points desperately back behind her, at the ballroom.

There is music on this hallway. Dull and tinny, like from an old CD player very far away. When I was a kid I had a jewellery box that played this tune. _Swan Lake_

I'm the first one on the scene, apparently. So I steel myself and I go up to the door. Walking, this time, not running. Running would be reckless and it's better to walk when you're not sure. Or terrified.

And trust me, when I get to that doorway it takes everything I have not to react _exactly_ the way Rachel Hardiwicke did.

The music is coming from a player on the gallery.

Just like the other night, the stone Astrid is watching the real Astrid dance beneath her feet.

The real, dead Astrid.

Whatever it is, they've changed her out of her pink pyjamas and into an old ballet costume. Some spare Sugar Plum fairy from the Christmas production. Dancing some kid's idea of the Dying Swan.

Just at that moment, Rory appears at one end of the hallway. And Reed Hardiwicke finds his wife. Asking her what's wrong, and her just pointing again like she did with me, and crying now. Rory's calling me, but I walk up to Hardiwicke as he approaches, and I try to make him go back, to not see. He's not listening to me, though.

"Please. Please, Mr Hardiwicke, just-"

But he's fought me back as far as the ballroom doors. Here, he sees what I saw, what we all saw, and moves to throw me out of the way. Rory stops him, holds him back.

And all this time, Astrid or whatever it is, just dancing. Now, with Rory and Hardiwicke struggling, one trying to keep the hysteria down in the other, things in the doorway are getting a bit louder. We disturb her. She turns around and stamps her foot. "I'm trying to _practice_!"

Reed Hardiwicke stops fighting when he hears her speak. Draws the sign of the cross on his chest and falls back a step. His wife comes to him. And nobody says anything. Even Rory, who I might kill later, is looking at _me_. I have been nominated simply by being the last to refuse.

I will never, ever again do this to the Doctor, it's a horrible feeling. Still, it's done now.

So I step forward. Square off and try not to look scared.

"Who are you?"  
>It smiles. Smiles Astrid's smile, big and bright.<p>

"I'm Astrid."

"No you're not. Astrid died this afternoon."

"Oh, I wasn't _always_ Astrid. But I am now."

"You're not Astrid, now or anytime. And you're going to get out of her body right away."

Oh, hark at Amy Pond, eh? Such a good impression of a stern mother she does when she's trying to stop her hands shaking. The thing, using Astrid, takes a step closer to me, with her bottom lip stuck out. Parodying 'sorry'. "Oh, yes," she nods. "Yes, of course, right away, because I'm absolutely going to listen to _you,_ aren't I?"

"Give her back!"

"No! It's mine now! She said before she died that I could have it! She _promised_!"

Oh.

"Yeah, but she unpromised, didn't she?"

And the eyes go all wide, caught in the lie, and then, with the shaky, jerky head movements of any defensive little girl, "Yeah, only there's no such word as 'unpromise', so it doesn't count!"

"No, I think Astrid unpromised, don't you?"

All of a sudden Rory can't keep hold of Hardiwicke anymore. He starts forward. "This is ridiculous," he cries out, and he's storming right past me. Acting like the big man, like a _father_. He doesn't understand, but this is the easiest way for him to lose. Whatever we're dealing with, it has the mind of a little girl, just exactly like Astrid and…

Oh. I think I know what we're dealing with. Finally I think I know what we're dealing with.

Finally, but too late to stop Reed Hardiwicke. He charges right up and grabs the frail, fragile body that used to be his daughter by both shoulders. Shakes her like he's going to rattle that presence right out. All he does is make it scared and angry. It stamps on his foot and bolts, out across the floor, up into the marble band. And on its way past it drags down the bow arm of the marble violinist, and a panel opens out in the wall.

The former Astrid disappears into the secret house.

The servants have gathered by now, and Hardiwicke charges out amongst them. "I want the devil found!" he declares, "And the devil take any one of you that speaks to me without it in your hands!"

Rory steps up behind me. Puts his hands on my shoulders. Only because his hands are steady do I realize I'm trembling all over. "Rory, I know what it is. It's the Friend, it's…" And so as not to alarm the Hardiwickes anymore than they already are, I only cut my eyes up at the stone girl, "_That_. Or it came from it anyway."

"I know…"

"Rory, I know what's happening here."

"Yeah. Police-us isn't really cutting it anymore, is it?"

"…I'll go and get him."

"No, Amy. I'll do it. You sit down…"

Tempting, Rory, very tempting. Sit down. Revert to the old plan, the curling-up-and-crying plan. Still sounds like a good plan. It's just that there's this whole other thing now where some mad creature smiled at me out of Astrid's face. And yeah, now I'm a bit annoyed, actually.

"Rory, no offence? But he'll listen to me."


	10. Chapter 10

He's not listening to me. It's this afternoon all over again only he's not being so nice about it this time.

It started the second I walked in. And I was clever, this time, I remembered to knock. He asked if I could give him a minute… No, he begged in a slightly shrill voice if I could give him a minute, and I did. When he let me in, the stake had been removed from the console floor, the strange dark substance smeared across the rotor in a hasty attempt to clean it off, and my daughter's gun was still lying on the chair. Which meant she hadn't come back, like he promised.

So it didn't start well and it isn't going well.

"Pond," he said, "how goes the investigation?"  
>All this time he was talking, his foot was sliding something off the glass floor to hang below. Like I'd be so busy hanging on his every word that I wouldn't notice the open neck restraint clattering down and swinging on its chain. And the two pairs of handcuffs are still there. He was picking them up and, so far as I can tell, trying to hide them behind the rail. But what with the rail being a single metal bar and all, they just fell back down.<p>

I presume that's what he needed the minute for; unchaining Jessica, I mean.

And in all of this, like there's nothing wrong, like I'm a WPC and he's my sergeant, "How goes the investigation?"

"Oh, we know who did it."

He was doing that thing he does, where he sort of bounces on the balls of his feet. When he's waiting for something or nervous or covering something up or just really excited. I wasn't really in the mood to start decoding. Anyway, he stopped when I said that. "And yet, Pond, you stand there looking at me as if that's not good news."

It's not. It's terrible, horrible, heart-breaking news. I start to explain to him. About that thing, Astrid's friend, a statue that somehow developed…

And he filled in, "Consciousness." And I took that as help.

And how that consciousness had basically learned, somehow, to possess the little girl it had come to know so well, who poured her heart out to it, all there was of her short little life to give.

The Doctor, that cold, nasty person he can be sometimes, like I wasn't even going to notice, edged around the console, stretched out one hand, shot a few commands into the Tardis mainframe. I don't know what he was calling up and I don't care, because I was talking. I was talking and it hurt to talk, and he couldn't even be bothered paying attention.

So I explained to him how that thing, that _consciousness_, Tuesday morning, took control of Astrid. More perfectly than it ever had before. I never got the chance to ask Astrid what she was doing all day Tuesday, but I bet she didn't remember. I know, though. Rory and me, we know. Didn't take much to figure it out. This is one of those Midsomer Murders type answers where, once you know who the killer is, the rest is obvious.

Tuesday morning, the Friend used Astrid to send Crayshaw Hannigan away into town. All Tuesday afternoon, it worked her sick little body ragged chiselling through the feet of that statue.

Which is just such a cruel method. Just such a lot of effort. You have to really _mean_ it, if you're going to go through all that, don't you?

I said that and he didn't answer me. I was making my way towards him. Not even thinking about what was on the monitor, what he was calling up out of the infobanks. But that's what he thought I was doing. He stepped forward and took me by the shoulders. Said he was guiding me around the shattered floor. In case I fell through. Which is alright, I suppose.

I asked him what the dark stuff was on the rotor casing.

"Blood," he said, "but don't worry. Nobody's injured."

Yeah, sure. Whatever.

So I went on then, and explained to him how the Friend-Astrid then hid in the wall all day, in the secret house. How Hannigan returned from town with the doll. And walked to his work bench. And even with the Friend in charge of things, Astrid must have needed a decent run up to knock that statue over… On top of him.

It's the oddest thing, but I fell too. Very probably that's why I was making my way towards the Doctor, because he was close enough to catch me by then.

Seriously. Like my legs just weren't there anymore. And I keep catching the weirdest little glimpses – a bit of tweed, the curves of an ear, that kind of thing. Which I think must mean I'm staring, not really looking at anything.

Oh yeah, this is us all caught up, by the way. This is about where we came in. Where I was saying how he isn't listening to me? Because I'm telling him, telling him not to move River's gun. She's coming back for it so we should just leave it where it is. But the words are coming out all backward, so maybe he just doesn't know what I'm saying. He moves it to the console so he can put me down on the chair.

"Amy, you're in shock. I need you to try and concentrate. Think about now, Amy, concentrate on my voice." That, Doctor, is the _last_ thing I want to concentrate on. You're saying _nothing_ I want to hear. "Think about breathing, just try and keep breathing." What a stupid bloody thing to say, of course I'm breathing. But when I start to think about it, it's a raggedy, shallow kind of breathing that can't be good for me.

"Go and help her, Doctor," I tell him. That's the thought I can concentrate on. The only one. "Go and help Astrid." He's not going anywhere. Not doing anything. Why isn't he going anywhere? The Doctor leans down, sticks his big face right into mine. Peering into my eyes more than anything else, like he's looking for something on the outside edge of my brain. "Just fix it," I tell him. "Go up there now. Find that thing, whatever it is, and take it out of Astrid." He starts shaking his head. "No, don't do that, just go and get it out. Now." He's not listening to me. He's not even thinking about me. He's miles away. "_Doctor_. Now."

The voice dark and empty and far away, avoiding looking at me at all, now. "It's not that simple, Amelia."

Oh, no. Not 'Amelia', not now. Don't start this with me. Nothing like a bit of condescension to lift you out of shock, let me tell you. Because that word, that 'Amelia', that's an easy thing to cling to. Whatever fog might have come down on me when I thought about the murder, 'Amelia' cuts through. And I'm able to think criticially, oh, God, yeah, _critically_ and formulate an intelligent question. "Why won't you help me?"

He pretends not to hear. Typing furiously, talking more to the Tardis than me. So I repeat my question, repeat it louder. I think about getting up to add emphasis, but it's still a bit soon for that. My knees go all wibbly and I give it up. Ask the question one more time.

Finally, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Pond, this is _not_ about you!"

"_Or you_!" How _dare_ he speak to me like that. Like I'm the one refusing, the selfish one.

"And just rushing on up there half-ready and stripping something _that_ volatile out of a body without a word-"

"-That's not what I'm asking-"  
>"-Is not going to do anybody a solitary shred of good!" I can stand again now. I can stand right up nose to nose with him so hopefully he'll stop bloody talking down to me. The Doctor breaks away, looks again at whatever's on the monitor and paces back again. Dragging a hand across his face, looking, if I didn't know better than to even think it, nervous. "Amy, I'm not saying I won't help."<br>"I know."

"You know better than that."  
>"I know."<p>

"I'm just saying we need to _think_ about this."

No. That's the part where he keeps losing me. The part about us even having _time_ to think. I don't know where he's getting that from at all. I start to tell him so, in the hopes that this time something might actually get through.

He changes. Inside him, I mean. The Doctor snaps and I can practically hear it. I was stupid; it's not that he isn't listening, it's that there's something to cover up. Probably for the good of us all. Probably something clever. Probably there's a plan in progress or something. I should probably care.

"What do you keep typing?" I say instead.

"Nothing."

And he tries again slinging the monitor around away from me. I step forward out of the chair and grab it by the bar, bring it back to me, even as he's shouting at me. 'Amelia' again. Full title. When I was a kid, you only ever got your full title when you were trouble.

Amelia Jessica Pond, if one more teacher phones this house…

Amelia Jessica Pond, what happened to your new boots?

Amelia Jessica Pond, would you care to explain the state of my kitchen?

He stops himself at Amelia, though. Maybe he doesn't want to confuse the other Jessica. Maybe because I've got the monitor now and I've seen it all. Transcripts. From two other occasions before now. The first from the time he got locked in that side-room with Soul. The second from the Tian Lu Quan.

Oh, God, we were stupid.

Smart as we were to get this far, Rory and I, there was one simple logical step further to go. This isn't just _a_ consciousness, any old brain-power building up in any old statue. This is _that_ consciousness. Oh my God, it's the thing that kissed me at the Tian Lu Quan and got Jessica stabbed and hung around my husband's head for weeks on end. This is _that_.

Soul. Soul is the thing that has Astrid.

"Amy, the first time Soul was here, and you were knocked out, it told me something. Couple of things, actually. Terrible, horrible predictions that it was dead-set on making come true. And I believe that here, tonight, we're at the absolute beginning of a thread, an element in our own timestream which, properly handled, might immeasurably improve all of our lives. Improperly handled, it stands to destroy them. So forgive me if I need a second to decide just exactly how to handle it."

Which is fair.

Which is true.

So far as it goes.

"Yeah, but this isn't about you, Doctor. Or about me. We discussed that. And every second we're standing here, that thing is running Astrid's body, all around the home that held her whole quick little life, and breaking the hearts, again, of everybody that knew her. So how about you do your thinking on the way to the house, and by the time we get there you'll have made a decision, alright?"


	11. Chapter 11

But of course, we get back to the house and he still hasn't made a decision. Says he doesn't have all the fact yet, wants to see Hannigan's notes.

And what more can I do? He knows, he _must_ know by now, that this means more to me than just the end of the story. The mystery's solved. If it was only that we could all walk away. He has to be able to see that I'm hurt; he's a Doctor, after all, is he not? And if he doesn't care enough about that to make up his mind then what else is there I can do?

We find Rory in the workshop. The Doctor walks straight past him, sits down in front of the journal and starts to go over it, looking for anything we might have missed. Behind him, Rory looks over at me and mouths, 'You okay?'

I try to explain before I realize I don't know what to tell him. It all turns into one useless flapping motion, open-handed, at the Doctor, me looking away.

Rory probably says something then. Probably tries to defuse the situation. And the Doctor probably fobs him off and Rory probably takes it. I don't really know. When I looked away I found myself looking right at that other big block of marble. The one that was going to be a statue. With the shape of the head just emerging from the top. It's probably no good for anything else now. Hannigan started it. Now it can be finished or be damned.

That's it, isn't it? Once something's in motion, that's how it is. Once you tell it what it's meant to be, that's the way it has to go.

"Doctor, please…"

But I'm too far away, too quiet. He doesn't hear me or he's just ignoring me now.

It's been more than an hour now since we found Astrid dancing in the ballroom. There are servants and staff all over the house rapping at the walls, trying sound her out, but they haven't a hope. Astrid told me all about it; nobody knows the secret house like she does. Did. And Friend was there, all that time, in the back of her mind, learning it too. Friend who was a statue and who will be Soul and is currently running about as Astrid. I don't think anybody else could fit in all those tiny little gaps.

Astrid told me all about that. And I didn't believe her. Me, of all people, sitting there thinking, Oh, poor sick girl, making things up to keep herself company. Me, of all people, I didn't listen close enough about her imaginary friend.

Something about that thought, I'm not breathing properly again. Bracing myself against the marble block, "Doctor, for God's sake, sometime tonight would be great…"

"The statue!" he cries, like his eureka moment, standing up dead sudden. Which is good, because when Rory turns to me again, I don't look so weak. I'm leaning on the block because he shocked me. Of course I am. Me, hyperventilating? Losing it? No, not lately. I'm the sensible one, remember? The Doctor is the one shaping his plan with wild hand gestures like invisible clay. "Everybody listen, because it's wonderful. All we have to do is find it. I'll knock up some kind of psychic compression field around the statue, we'll trick it back in, somehow, it's a detail, well, a kink, I'm working on that, and then all we have to do is put the statue nobody will ever disturb it again. I mean properly, not like in old movies where they put cursed things in tombs and then somebody disturbs it later, not like that at all."

He finishes, just glimmering all over with his own brilliance. That's not sarcasm, by the way. He actually is. I just phrased it sarcastically to express how I feel about it, because he's not _actually_ doing it.

"So…?" Rory begins. I'm glad he begins. I wouldn't be so nice about it.

"I have no idea where the statue is."

"Ballroom," I say. Pushing off the marble, I get enough momentum to keep going. Once I'm walking, once I'm doing something, I'm alright again. "Upstairs. This way."

I'll show him from below first, because it's closer. If he needs to get up close, I'll tell him how to get to Astrid's room, send Rory with him to work the hatch in the wall. Me, I should probably stay below, if that happens. Keep an eye out. Or I could go looking for him.

We're nearly there when Reed Hardiwicke comes charging down the corridor towards us. And me, for my part, I charge right on by. He's not happy about that. Stops the Doctor, actually, which is fair enough, seeing he's never seen him before. Demands to know who he is.

And the Doctor, because he is who he is, the way he is, he's fully prepared to stand there and explain himself. I reach back, get him by the braces and take him with me. "He's a specialist," I say.

Rory, Inspector Williams, is left to do the explaining for us.

"Amy," the Doctor hisses at me, "the man is _grieving_."

"Yeah. And we're helping."

I take him to the door of the ballroom. From there I show him the statue, and the place where Soul disappeared into the secret house. And I'm stood there explaining all the ins-and-outs of the system, all the one's I'm aware of, and we're deciding how best to root the vicious little bitch out of the walls.

Above, at the gallery, I hear the hatch opening. The Doctor and I run out far enough to see.

Reed Hardiwicke. With a hammer and chisel from the workshop and a determined look on his face. A grimace, actually, there it is again. Told you you learn what one of those is on the Tardis.

"No-no-no," the Doctor starts, "What are you doing?"

"Put those down!" I add, louder, harder. The Doctor's looking at me sideways, giving me that eye that means I should ease up. But I don't want to ease up. And Hardiwicke's not doing what I told him to. He goes right on, like he can't even hear us.

The chisel is in place, the hammer raised up.

"We're trying to save Astrid!" I shout up.

He stops. Only for long enough to say, "Will she still be dead?"

The Doctor nods, slow and sorry, "Yes."

"Did this thing kill her?"

Before I can cut in with something that doesn't end badly, the Doctor tells him, "I can't prove that but-"

And the hammer comes down. Again and again, and on that third strike, half the marble head splits off and falls to his feet, slips through the gallery railing. Lands in front of us and shatters.

He keeps going, too. Means to destroy it.

"But the pieces are enough, aren't they, Doctor?"

I'm looking up, but only into the side of his face. And his eyes dart all over, and only occasionally over to me. "Back to the drawing board, I'm afraid."

"No!" The strength of my own voice disturbs me, not to mention the strength in my arms spinning him round to face me for once. "You've had enough time to think, Doctor. There's no other way. Just stop it. Just throw Soul out the way you always do."

Whatever Soul told him, all those weeks ago, while Rory and I were sleeping, it preys on him now. He's torn. Needs me to give up and be understanding of him when he puts a hand to his face and says, "I can't. If I take Soul's first human body away from it I'll always be the man who stole its chance at life. It will always hate me and-"

He probably finishes what he's saying. He usually does. But I've been listening to it for nearly an hour now and I'm not listening to it anymore. He's probably still talking, one way or another, when I reach out and open his jacket, when I put my hand in the inside pocket, when I take out the sonic screwdriver.

"Stop it, Pond, you don't know what you're doing."

"'Course I do. Setting 18F. That's the one you used on Jessica at the Tian Lu Quan and Soul jumped out like the bathwater was too hot."

"But you have no idea how to _set_ it."

I point it at him, activate setting 18F and watch him double up, hands over his ears.

Oh yeah. I pay attention. Not just because the sonic is useful and can do cool things, but because someday he's going to be on the other end of a crackly intercom line, barking orders at me and expecting me to know. More than likely the fate of some poor planet will hang in the balance, and I'll have to know. And, obviously, in case some terrible situation comes up where he just refuses to do what I know to be necessary and I have to take matters into my own hands.

"Alright, _alright_!" he says. Primarily to get me to stop. But when he straightens again, eyes full but not quite crying, he holds out his hand.

I'm keeping the sonic.

"I'll do it, Amy. You win. And you're right, we've got no other choice now." I wait. Looking into his face until I know he's not just saying that. Then and only then do I put the sonic back in his hand. "Now come along, Pond, upstairs. I need to get a look at what's left up there."

Finally.

Finally I'm getting somewhere.

Rory's at the door when I'm walking towards it. Much as I might like to take this opportunity to tell him off for telling Hardiwicke too much about the statue, there isn't time. I begin to explain what's going on. Then, in that odd, sixth-sense type way you know when somebody walks into the room, I know the Doctor is pointing at me, mouthing something behind my back.

I take one step over the threshold.

Rory pulls me close like he's going to kiss me. In fact, he does. And in that moment, the door shuts behind me, and there's that low, familiar noise of the sonic turning the lock. Realizing what's happening, I open my eyes before I pull away. "Rory, how could you?"

"You can't see yourself," he tells me. Tries to hug me, but I push him off. "Amy, it's getting to you, you're not-"

Not helping? Don't tell me I'm not helping. That's all I've wanted to do from the beginning and all I've been prevented from every step of the way. I push Rory farther still away and run up the stairs, back to Astrid's bedroom. I didn't want to come here, you know. Not after she died here. Never wanted to see that bed where she's supposed to be laid out and I'm supposed to be gone forever.

But here I am.

The hatch is closed. Sonic again, probably, and this is only confirmed when I pull on the ballerina's hand and nothing happens.

But the hatch only ever led to the gallery, didn't it? And Astrid had the whole house from here.

There's another door somewhere in this room.

So I go about the walls, looking behind the furniture, moving things off the surfaces, looking for anything else reaching out from the walls, anything else that could be a lever or switch.

Nothing.

Rory's in the room now, trying to put me off. But he's in the room the same way a fly would be. Nothing I can't handle, nothing I can't swipe away.

Think, Pond, where would the Doctor look? He'd have gotten it straight off. But then again, he just locked me out of the one situation where I'm clearly going to be more use than he is. I'm not really sure I even _want_ to be able to think like that.

So think, Pond, where do little girls hide their secrets?

When Mels ran away from her foster parents, when we were eight, I hid her in the cupboard. So I check the cupboard. Nothing.

When we were ten and Rory found me the super-special, one-in-every-thousand packets shiny Charizard pokemon card, everybody wanted to steal it. I stuck to the back of my wardrobe with blutack. So I check the wardrobe, looking for a false back. Nothing.

When we were nineteen and… well… yeah… um, Rory was under the bed.

Under the bed, carved on the wall, there's an angel. I turn it and the wall slides back. Pushes to one side and lets me in between the walls. Tight fit, but I make it. Rory can't, and he can't reach through to pull me back. And Astrid left me a torch and everything. Great kid, Astrid. Or she was.


	12. Chapter 12

The secret house is vicious. Almost like it's on Soul's side, doesn't want me here. I'm full of splinters and scratches from old nails and wood staples. I bruise my hip on a cross beam before I even see it. I'm trying to think my way around a house I don't even know, following the walls down to the ballroom. Locking me out meant the Doctor locked himself in. Which means that the ballroom is where he's going to finish this. And I'm going to be there. I am.

Through the walls, music starts. The old CD player again, the one Soul used when it wanted to dance. Probably soniced back to life. I'll bet he's got the lights going and everything. Trying to lure it in.

Then, far away, echoing down the wood ribs of the secret house, Reed Hardiwicke's voice; "Devil! Where are you, Devil?" Devil, who was Friend, who will be Soul, who thinks it's Astrid. Everything comes back to Astrid.

He shouts again. And this time a noise follows, very small. I'd miss it if I wasn't already listening out. Small, pattering little steps, muffled in soft flat shoes, coming along the beams. Coming my way.

"Devil!" Hardiwicke shouts again. In frustration, this time, because Soul's getting away from him. But it's not a bad idea at all, actually.

"Oi!" I try, and the footsteps stop dead. "It's me! Detective Pond! Come out, you little spook, come out and get arrested." In between my voice and Hardiwicke's is the music drifting in off the ballroom. That must sound tempting to poor, trapped little Soul, right? "Yeah! I'm going to arrest you on suspicion of murder and… and… and unlawful possession!"

The footsteps turn left and run again. So I take my next left and try to follow.

It's a wrong turn. It doesn't take me to the secret door at the back of the ballroom. I am, I think, in behind the statue of the old fat woman with the fan. If I lean over I can look through her eyes.

It's also a dead end.

I have time to go back, it's okay. I can do that.

It's just that, the first thing I see, looking through, is four stubby little girl fingers coming back around the upstage door, back to where she began. And I can't move. Can't miss it.

She peers out, Soul's silly imitation of childish fear. Weirdest thing; I don't think I've ever really, honestly wanted to kill something before. Said it a few times. I mean, there was Kovarian, of course, but then again that never really happened. And was about River. I've come to terms with that, over time, and decided that it doesn't count, not properly. Also because it was Kovarian.

Point is, I do now.

The Doctor is standing in the middle of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, with a sweet and harmless smile, he approaches Soul at the door.

"Astrid?" he says, "Your name is Astrid, isn't it?"

He knows full well it isn't. But I'm watching, seeing it slide Astrid's body out around the door, and I'm not breathing again. I can't talk to tell them just exactly what I think about Soul playing at Astrid.

I get damn close though; "Finally," Soul is saying, "Somebody _gets_ it."

"Oh yes, I get it. I've seen much stranger things than you."

And like any petty little girl, Soul pouts at that. Sticks Astrid's little Tinkerbell nose up in the air. "She _did_ say I could have the body when she was finished with it. She _did_ promise, so that makes it mine now that she's dead."

"That's perfectly logical, little Astrid. Step out here in the light, where I can see you."

I don't know what Soul said to the Doctor before. I've already said that. But it must have been bad, because he's playing a hell of a part here. I can see it on him, on both of them, barely restrained. Both of them threatened. Both of them more dangerous than ever.

Soul brings Astrid out. Without even looking, it points up at the destroyed statue above. "Only I have to be Astrid now because I don't have my old statue anymore so I don't have a choice anymore"

"Well, obviously, you have to have _somewhere_ to live, don't you, little one?"

It looks up to him, Astrid's big eyes welling up. Runs to him, those light, tiny ballet steps, throws her little arms around his legs and says, "You can tell everybody that, can't you, mister?"

"Oh yes. But you can't call me mister, little one. You should call me the Doctor."

It recoils at that, no more hugging, stares at me. "_You_? _You're_ the Doctor? But I thought doctors were bad. They made Astrid sick. And when Mr Hannigan was going to tell a doctor about me then-"

"Then you killed him."

Panicking, shaking Astrid's head, waving her hands, "No-no-no, only I wouldn't have if I'd thought you were-"

"That's all I really needed to hear, little one."

He places the sonic to her temple. It's over in one short blast. Soul vacates, screaming. It's been a statue for as long as it existed; this might well be its first experience of pain. Astrid's body collapses on the Doctor's arm.

Now I can breathe. Now I can move. Now I run back the way I came, and a nail tears my arm open at the shoulder but I don't care, and I rush out into the ballroom the same way she did and take the body from him.

"You should have let me do it," I say. "I wanted to be the one to do it."

"No," he says. Heavy, far away. Relieved of Astrid he walks away from us, unlocking the door. Rory and the Hardiwickes are waiting in the hall. "No, Pond, that's the last thing you wanted. It's the very last thing you'd ever want.

I look down at Astrid, kneeling to lay her down on the step of the stage. Still gone, of course, still dead, but peaceful now. That's something, I suppose.

The Hardiwickes come to her, and Rory helps me up and away from it all. Touching the wound on my arm. Such a nurse, every time.

"How'd you get this?" he asks me, brow furrowed.

"_Alice In Wonderland_," I say, with absolutely no control over it whatever.

"Amy? Amy, what's the matter?"

"_Rory and Mels_," I say, the same way again. Something dark and nasty poking around the edges of my mind. Darting at first one side and then the other, feinting, trying to get around me, somewhere I can't answer it. Within a second, the Doctor has come back to us. He has a hold of me by the chin, bringing my eyes to his, telling me for the second time today that I have to concentrate.

"Listen to me, Amy, listen to my voice. That's how Soul gets in, but you can't let it. Concentrate, Amy, concentrate on me."

"_Size six,_" I say. The Doctor sighs.

"I'm sorry," he says.

I see the sonic coming up to my head and just nod.

It hurts for a moment and then nothing does.


	13. Chapter 13

Astrid was still dead, but I come round on a bed in the Tardis medical room. Rory sitting next to me, half-asleep, but he jerks awake the moment I open my eyes. Such a nurse, every time.

The Hardiwickes and the Manor Ignis, the whole planet of Grex, in fact, are gone and far behind. He tells me that right away. What he really means is that we left Soul there.

Rory wants me to lie down again, wants me to rest. But I'm fine except my head hurts. Anyway, I want to talk to the Doctor.

"Good luck," he tells me darkly. "He is, and I quote, 'finishing up with Jessica'. Can't get near him. River's gone, you know."

"Yeah, I know. She didn't come back? He thought she'd probably come back when she cooled off."

"Why, what did he do to her?"

"They wouldn't say, none of them. They were arguing about… whatever was happening here while we were in the manor."

"Well," says Rory, "that's something at least."

"What is?"

"_Nobody_ had a good time this week."

I laugh. I don't even really know why, just that I laugh. Can't help it. But the sound of it fires straight through my headache and I rub my eyes. Then I make Rory help me down from the bed, set me up properly on my feet. "Where are they? I'm going to try."

Go out the bottom of the console room, and round the corner, take a left and right and it's the third door. It's testament to how long I spend trailing about this big old box that even with a little man inside my head trying to jackhammer my skull open I can still follow directions like that, no problem.

I'm up to taking the left when I walk into Jessica on the corridor. She looks about how I feel. Which is probably how _I_ look, but I'm avoiding reflective surfaces, due to a healthy fear of not recognizing myself. Eye bags, hollow cheeks, bloodshot eyes, the full works. Jessica only just beats me by having a great big square plaster on the side of her neck and some slight wear around the neck and wrists that I'd rather not think about.

I trust the Doctor, after all. I really do.

Jessica puts out one hand to stop me. Says, "Amypond not talks to him. Him am not good. Am angry, maybe, not at Jessica, but it not knows why, so Amypond not talks to him now please."

"Did he say that?"

Jessica shakes her head, looks down at her feet. It's not a message, then, just her own warning. I would respect a message. Well, no, no I wouldn't, but I'd feel worse about ignoring a message than a warning. As it is I send Jessica to Rory. To assure him she's still alive, at least. I might not understand why he's so obsessed, but I can be nice about it, can't I? I can be the sensible one about that.

So I take the right and I count three doors and knock.

"Don't come in," he says beyond it. The same low, heavy voice he spoke with after he cast Soul out of Astrid.

I push the door open just enough to look in. "How's my big bad exorcist holding up?"

"Don't, Pond."

So I let myself in and close the door behind me. I know this room. It's the one with the hatch we tried to lock him and Jessica in that time. When we wanted her to stop wearing her mask. And we all ended up unconscious and Soul showed up and then he told River to leave and never darken the Tardis door again and it didn't end well, but we did start out with the best intentions, all of us.

Funny how that keeps happening.

Exhaustion seems to have kicked in. The Doctor has crashed, and is sprawled across the corner of one of the sofas. I sit down on the one opposite and wait for him to say the things he wants to.

"I should have gone myself," he begins. "I would have seen it coming, could have stopped it. And don't start on me, Pond, I'm not saying you're thick, you know better than that-"

"I know."

"-But I would have seen it. Would have had a chance. And none of this would ever have had to happen."

He's just staring. Some little point between himself and the door with nothing in it, he's just _staring_ at it. When Jessica said he was angry, I thought it was probably going to be aimed at me. _This_, this is the last thing I expected. He's really, all-out raging with _himself_.

You always suspect it. The things he says, sometimes, the way he reacts, you know this is there. But he'd never ever let us see.

"Doctor-"

"I could have stopped this, Amy."

I move from my sofa over to his and sit next to him. "Stopped what?" He still staring, right on past me and it would break your heart if you let it, but I push, "It goes no further than me, Doctor."

He shuts his eyes. In a straight, even tone, without comment, he says, "Soul intends to possess River, and to use her to murder me. It also made predictions, predictions that I can't but believe, about River's death also. And we spent this evening creating that particular monster. That's why I couldn't let you do it, Amy, that's why it couldn't be you. I'm sorry, it wasn't the time to explain."

And now I'm staring too. Trying to take in what he just told me, but it's not real, not possible. It's all intentions and dreams and things that haven't happened yet. It's not real to me, any of it.

And what now, anyway? We both sit here staring into space over something that isn't real yet, something we can do nothing about yet? Nah. No thanks. Doesn't sound like the sensible option at all. And I haven't been doing very well at being the sensible one, these couple of days.

So I edge closer to him again and nudge him in the ribs.

"Ow. Pond, you're all points."

"So what's this top secret experiment all about then?"

"Pardon?"

I'm smiling, you see, which he doesn't quite get at the moment. I'm smiling on purpose, which probably means it isn't entirely convincing, but it's the best I can do. And he needs that. He needs the best I can do, and me and all. "You and Jessica. What've you been working on that nobody was allowed to be part of?"

This is me, letting him off the hook. He gets that much. "Tracing a signal, Pond, something wrapped up in every cell of Jessica's being."

"A signal for where, Doctor?" I say that with proper interest. Companion Spirit, he calls it, but only when he thinks we're not listening.

"Why, Pond, where else? Silence HQ. We're off to save your daughter from their vile clutches. And also an item of extreme personal importance to me, but _mostly_ your daughter. Who, needless to say, is also of extreme personal importance to me."

"So what? We kick their door down, take what we want and no prisoners and leave naught but fire and destruction in our wake?"

"Maybe you, Komodo Lady." He's getting into the swing of things now, half-smiling, "What would you say to something a little more… _subtle_?"

"Our-mission-should-we-choose-to-accept-it, Doctor?"

"A heist, Pond, of the good-old-fashioned kind."

I get up, throw back my hair like international super-thieves do in the movies. "I sincerely doubt the 'old-fashioned' part. Let's get the kettle on and you can tell me all about it."

He needs a hand up. Carved out a nice little crater for himself in that sofa. Nice little rut to get stuck in if I hadn't come along when I did.

"Pond?"

"Doctor?"  
>"Would you mind awfully if I hugged you very tightly for a moment, Pond?"<p>

"For as long as you want, Doctor."

[a/n - Here we are again, ladies and gents. Sorry for the downer ending, but that's where this was going all along. (Anybody feeling dangerously depressed, i posted two doses of the antidote (or 'comedy oneshots') this week - Venus in Retrograde and A Book At Bedtime (the latter is for Sherlock)) Anyhpw, it's been another weird week for hits. I've lost old people, so one more time i'm gonna say a massive big Thank You Very Much to all of you whi are bearing with me. And I've gained new people (I think), so i want to say my first massive big hello to them. And include them in the thank you, obviously. Now I'm going to stop rambling.

On that note, though; Brighty, hon? I'm afraid I'm going back to the Rambling Man for some of the narration next week. Amy's going to stick about for a bit, though. It's going to be a half-and-half heist, with twists and betrayals and deals made, the return of the punk/'plumber', the invasion of Silence HQ and a little-bit-short-of-an-argument about A Little Less Conversation.

Preview as soon as it's polished.

Hearts,

Sal]


	14. Amongst Thieves Preview

"Have you _ever_ staged a heist before?"

"No. Always seemed so... _illegal_."

"And the law just _stopped_ applying this time, did it?"

"Well, it's more of a relative case, in this instance, greater good, that kind of thing. All Robin Hood and... why am I justifying this to you, Pond, of all people? It'll annoy Kovarian. Be happy."

"I am, just can't take you seriously when you're dancing." I _am_ dancing. Just a little bit. As little as I possibly can and much less than I want to. Less than Elvis wants me to, which feels disrespectful, when such a talented man is dead. And she's mentioned it now, so I'm thinking about it now and now, I really, really want to- "Stop it, Doctor. Let go of my hand, Doctor. Seriously, I'm not in the mood, now just-" And then she yelps, because she's dancing with me and it's not been entirely her idea. "What is the point of this?"

"This is how one prepares for a heist. Earth told me."

"Earth?"

"A message passed to me from Earth. A lesson I learned most assiduously when I was researching this venture. Also possibly the legend that will ultimately lead to me and your daughter knocking over a casino by accident, btu that hasn't happened yet and my future self didn't remember all that much of it so-"

"What?"

"Hm? Pardon? Did you say something? I certainly didn't. What time is it?"

She stands back from me, though I'm not letting go of her, because Elvis doesn't want me to. "Nearly an hour since the last time you asked me that. Which was nearly an hour after the _last_ time you asked me that."

"Well, you're so good at linear time. It's really not my strong point. Keep dancing, I'll be back with you before you know it."

And I nip off away from her. She doesn't keep dancing, and I have to remember to apologize to Elvis next time I pop back there. Have to tell him about _Blue Hawaii_, apparently that was my idea. River said I said to remind me to remind Elvis about _Blue Hawaii_. You know, a man can feel a bit cheated when he trawls four star-systems for an anniversary present and gets nothing more than spoilers in return. Elvis had better be a laugh when I get back there, or I'm not going to the trouble again, no way.

Oh, who am I kidding... I can't help myself when it comes to presents. Anyway, she hasn't been getting out of Stormcage much, not doing a lot of shopping. Not until lately, anyway, when I can't seem to keep her in it anymore. Feel sorry for her sometimes. Hence the elaborate gifts. It's pity, not guilt.

It really is. I've told you before about that _look_, take that look of your face immediately, reader.

For instance, it is _also_ pity and not guilt which has been taking me, every hour, to the door of Jessica's little bedroom upstairs, with some offering to be left outside with a knock. Not guilt. Why would I feel guilty?

I've spent most of this week engaging the girl in a process of cellular chronaton extraction and tracking that I won't describe to you, because you wouldn't like it and you wouldn't like me for it, but why would I feel guilty? I know where River is, I know where to hit the Silence at home, I know what to do next. Jessica may not have enjoyed it all, but neither did I. Why would be guilty?

Running out of ideas, though. It started with the usual earth offering, of tea. And when she didn't answer I left it outside the door, and when I looked back it was gone. So I tried again with toast and the same thing happened. And this, here in my hands, this is the last resort. I leave it, and knock, and walk immediately away. If she doesn't want to come out, that's fine. I can only hope she accepts.

I loop back out to the top of the console room. Pond is now dancing with Rory. That's fine. Nice. She needs to dance, right now, same way I needed to. It's been a long few days, and the next few are threatening to go the same way. This, this little in-betweeny part, this is for dancing and chips and ice cream and other things that make the recent past go away. Other things that settle the mind for the next trial. It's been this way for a while now. Trial after trial following hard on a trial. Can't say I'm mad about it. And yet I'm not sure exactly where we can expect it to end, so fine, let them dance.

They dance until they see me. Then they break apart and Pond, one more time, demands to know, "_What_ has Elvis got to do with grand larceny? What message from Earth told you that, _who_ told you?"

Nothing to do but hold my head up straight and pretend there's nothing humiliating about admitting, "George Clooney."

"Oh my God," Rory sighs, and takes a seat. "We're all going to prison forever..."

"It's also just a wonderful musical feat, that song. That's a classic."

"_A Little Less Conversation_ is not a classic, Doctor."

"Look, nobody's going to prison. Honestly, you're all so _negative_. You just need to trust, alright? We're doing this for River. Mostly. Also for another thing, but I'll deal with that. Really, we're doing this for River. So just concentrate on that. Not only is it a positive point, but it will give you a much, much better mindset for the whole enterprise, which is of course key in these situations and-"

And I've turned around again, and at some point while I've been addressing Pond, Jessica has slipped down the stairs beneath my notice. Sitting on the floor by Rory's chair, getting the dressing on her neck looked over. It's alright, by the way. He might be a nurse, but I already looked. The edges of the wound are already hard and blue with ash, sealing up nicely.

Remember that painful and arduous process I was talking about before? The wound wasn't really part of that. It was more... a _side-effect_, yes, let's go with 'side-effect'. It's been a long few days.

Anyway, this is one of those rare occasions when she lets me meet her eyes. Eating strawberry laces out of her other hand, she waves up. Without a word, 'It and him are okay. Not to be worried for it. Understands.'

But I have one more peace offering still to make anyway.

"And you. How would you like to punch your old Owner, hm?"

She just goes wide-eyed, just stares. Says nothing, but her lips part and she raises both hands to hold down her swelling heart, all of her glimmering all over, shocked and honoured. Which is better. Should have started with that one, we could have gotten this over with hours ago. I'm considering that when Pond steps up and taps my shoulder.

Voice low, secretive, "Listen, if she doesn't want to and you've got a cricket bat somewhere, I can probably hit just as hard."

I should get her a cricket bat. Not because I intend to let her play that part, but because pretending tonight would be good for her. Cheer her up. These nights, these in-betweeny-parts, you have to take whatever comfort you can get. You never know where you're going to be this time tomorrow.


	15. am reading this heretimes please

Doctor am tells her to be reading stories. They are for the makingbetter her English. She knows about capital letters now, for people and things but not always things.

Him am meaning in actual that her should be better at communications. Suchway, when her am needs telling him something quickfast, him can understand. Am better for Tardisthings and Adventurethings.

No. Bad. Adventurethings not has capital letter, but does there, because am being at the start of the… wordstring.

But Doctor am telling her her should be reading stories. So her am going on his computer when am feeling nosleep. Was to be finding 'bookmark'. Bookmarks am going in books which am having stories in them, so her am clicking on 'bookmark'.

Am reading stories by designated: Garmonbozia. Garmonbozia am being bad-lie-designation. Bad Garmonbozia am hiding because knows was to be making Jessica angry. Her am saying Jessica am stupidcute. Is not being true. Jessica am really really bad and her am not funny to has been turning it into jokes.

Not being scared of Doctor either. Doctor am twoheart and Jessica am not being scared of twohearts, not ever. Doctor am nice and that am weird and different, but thentimes-nowtimes not being scared of him.

Am knowing Garmonboziasecret.

Jessica am being clever like Doctor and knowing Garmoboziasecret.

And her am to be telling Doctor and Amypond and Rorypond and Riversing and all of them am to be being angry with Garmobozia too.

In neartimes, all of them am to be angry and go to see Garmonbozia.

Clever Jessica am seeing very-like-obvious that Garmonbozia am friend of Owner and the Tall People. Not alternative way for Garmonbozia to be knowing about Jessica and Doctor and Tardisthings that happen. Only Owner and Doctor and Riversing am knowing that, and not being Doctor or Riversing that tells her. So Garmonbozia am Ownerfriend.

Badfriend.

Owner am to be telling Garmonbozia secrets and Garmonbozia am to be pretending they are stories and telling all the peoples, like Madperson and Randomperson and V…Velnyperson and Princessperson and Dy… Daan… _all_ the people. But am still not good because should tell Doctor and then Doctor stops the bad parts. Her am telling him from now on, okay? Her is to do the spoilers. Then not does bad anymore. Not has bad accidents like Soul.

Her am making the stories _beforetimes_. Him am reading. Then him am knowing. If makes her write beforetimes, Jessica makes him reading them.

Makes deal with Garmonbozia?

Hello?

Yeah, I found her this morning still typing that. She'd been at it hours. On paper, mind, she thought she had to post it to you. Now, listen, love, I don't know who you are or who you _think_ you are, but Jessica was spot-on with that bit about Amypond being angry too.

I mean it's all fun and games when you're on about him and Scone. I enjoyed that one. Bit shaky towards the end, maybe, but at least that one was funny. I had no problem with you putting that one up for the world to see and laugh at. Does him good, getting laughed at every so often, knocks him down a notch or two. But who the _hell_ do you think you are, pretending you're in _my_ head?

God knows we have enough trouble around here with things jumping bodies and reading minds and all sorts without factoring _you_ in.

It's not fun and games anymore, _Sal_.

I don't care how much you know about what happened next. I'm telling you now, don't write it.

But then he's tried that, hasn't he? The Doctor, I mean, he's tried before just telling you to stop. There were cease-and-desist orders and a couple of outright threats. I read those. I laughed at those. Believe me, I laughed.

Seriously, love, nobody here is laughing anymore.

I know how you work and I know you're due to start posting tomorrow. Which probably means you've started but seriously, why don't you just relax this week? Park yourself on that sofa, watch _Storage Wars _or whatever it is you people do in your free time. Have a week off. _Sherlock_ just finished, haven't you got oneshots you could write instead?

Don't write the next one. Please. I won't tell you, I won't threaten you. I'll ask you, please, don't do it. Or if you _have_ to finish your story just _skip_ it, and we'll make something up. You and me, we'll sit down and work it out. How you're going to explain it. We'll jump over the whole next instalment and tell them all Jessica's… on holiday or something.

She doesn't know how the next one goes. Knows how it ends, yeah, but not how it happens. And neither does the Doctor, or Rory… But I do.

I do, and I'm asking you… _begging_, if it helps, don't write it.

Don't tell them how it happened.

Sincerely,

Amelia Pond.


End file.
